I Wished For You Once
by JennaMae
Summary: An accident during Quidditch practice makes Ginny realize that she could share her past with someone who understands, if she can only break through him.
1. Prologue

**I Wished For You Once**

_Prologue_

None of Ginny Weasley's brothers knew of their youngest sibling's exploits to quench her passion for Quidditch.

It all began two years ago, when their mother got so furious at Fred and George for putting multicolored spots on all their father's robes. Ginny could very well remember how her mum's face had gotten so red from shouting at the twins—boys of their age were not supposed to do magic yet, and besides, their father's wardrobe was already too dismal for further damage to be imposed on them. Percy, she also remembered, had been a right elder brother towards Fred and George. Bill and Charlie had been more amused than sympathetic, though.

Needless to say, there had been a lot of commotion in the house, and little Ginny had just wanted to escape from the racket inside. Without Molly Weasley's overprotective eyes on her youngest and only daughter, Ginny had quietly gone outside and found herself standing in front of the broom shed.

An idea suddenly formed in her young, adventurous mind. She had wanted to get away, hadn't she? Luckily for her, the broom shed had not been locked. She stole inside quietly and seized Charlie's battered Cleansweep Seven.

She had seen Bill and Charlie do it: they had simply stuck their hands out, palms down, over the broom and said, "Up!" Then, they climbed on the broom and kicked off from the ground. Excitement coursed through Ginny's veins. She wanted to do this; she _knew_ she could do this.

But _could_ she do it?

Ginny had held the broomstick on both hands. It was easily too large for her small frame. She had also seen her brothers get nasty cuts from flying too close to trees, scratching themselves on the branches. "You shouldn't fly, it's stupid enough with you lot getting hurt," Percy had chided Charlie and Bill.

But what was getting hurt to the incredible feeling of soaring through the air she had always imagined? What were cuts and bruises to the flushed, grinning faces of Fred, George, Bill and Charlie, who always landed on the ground seemingly exultant beyond words? Deep inside her, at such a young age of six, Ginny Weasley had known that she was meant to fly...and even if she had to hide from her family (because they obviously wouldn't let her), she'd fly whenever she could.

Resolutely, Ginny had set the Cleansweep Seven on the ground. Behind her, inside the Burrow, her mother had given a sharp yell obviously meant for the twins. She hadn't heard. She had stuck her hand out, palm down, said "Up!" clearly, and the handle of the broomstick rushed to her hand....

* * *

Eight-year-old Ginny now looked sullenly at Bill, Charlie, Fred and George, who were flying in the orchard just a few minutes' walk from the Burrow. Charlie, who had been the Gryffindor Seeker in Hogwarts when he was still studying there, was now persuading Fred and George to try out for the team once announcements were made. The twins' invitations to study in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry arrived this morning, and Quidditch was the first thing they talked about—even before the reprimands that were especially reserved for them. Now, a few hours later, at dusk, her brothers had set out to practice.

Ginny was sitting on a slope near where her brothers were practicing, wondering what it would be like if her brothers knew she could also fly. She was never taken seriously by the elder ones; she and Ron were usually shunted on one side whenever the elder ones talked. Well, Percy rarely ever joined them in their talks and he rarely ever flew, but he never took her seriously, either; in fact, Ginny suffered being little sister most whenever she was with Percy.

In other words, if she told her brothers she wanted to fly, they would probably laugh at her. Her mother would be horrified—Quidditch wasn't so bad, but her brothers _made_ it look dangerous! Perhaps, Ginny thought, for her mum, Quidditch was only for the boys. Ginny's parents had talked of buying Ron a second-hand broomstick, after all.

And she, Ginny, was left to break into the broom shed and practice in secret.

Ginny lay on her stomach and propped her chin on her right hand. Her left arm remained limp beside her; she had a nasty bruise on her left elbow that she had gotten two days ago, when she fell about eight feet to the ground from her broom. A sparrow that seemingly came out from nowhere had suddenly appeared in front of her. She had closed her eyes momentarily and the next thing she knew, she was hurtling down and she wasn't able to pull herself up until it was too late.

The bruise wasn't so bad to keep her from flying, though; she would _never_ let her injuries interfere with her practice. She would get up at five tomorrow and practice in the orchard for maybe an hour, way before her mum or dad woke up. Fred's broom would be her victim; she would make the most of it in the hour she would have alone.

Ginny suddenly became aware of someone calling her. Twisting around, she saw Ron climbing up the slope, looking bad-tempered.

"What?" she asked him.

Ron scowled at her. "You were playing with my chess set, weren't you?" he said accusingly.

"No, I was _not_," Ginny shot back hotly. "Why are you always blaming _me_ for things you lose?"

"I didn't _lose_ my chess set, it's the pieces who won't play—they say someone twisted their necks and stuff just because they lost—"

"Well, don't look at me. It's only Fred and George who'd do that to your chess pieces."

Ron seemed to consider this for a while; he regarded Ginny thoughtfully, and after a moment sat down beside her.

"I'd get those two," he muttered, looking up at their brothers as they flew.

Ginny didn't say anything. She knew it was useless to argue. Instead, she sat up and voiced out what was bothering her.

"Why's Dad buying you a broom?"

"Be_cause_," said Ron, puffing his chest out proudly, "Dad reckons it's about time I had my own, because I'm nine already."

"Well, _I'm_ eight, and that doesn't make a difference."

"Well, _you're_ a girl," Ron pointed out.

_"So what?"_ Ginny yelled. She always hated it when boys, particularly her brothers, made out that girls are helpless. "Andrea Holmes and Patricia Hirst are from Chudley Cannons and they fly better than Terry Allen!"

"No they don't!" Ron protested loudly. "Allen is the greatest Keeper in the world!"

"The Cannons could have won against the Magpies yesterday if Allen weren't so bad at blocking—"

"Hey, shut up, Ginny!"

"Sore _loser_," Ginny muttered, wanting to annoy Ron as much as she can. "The girls in the Cannons are _so_ much better than the boys—"

"Girls fall off their broomsticks all the time!" Ron snapped.

Ginny suddenly turned red; she clapped her hand on her left elbow. "No, we don't!" she screeched.

Ron started to laugh loudly. "Yes, you do! Didn't you hear yesterday? Hirst had to be replaced—"

"Shut _up_, Ron!" It was Ginny's turn to be aggravated.

"Sore _loser_."

Ginny glared at Ron. Seeing Ron's laughing, taunting face made her angrier than she already was—but behind the annoyance she felt towards her brother, she felt something else: a deep, gaping sadness, an emptiness she couldn't find anyone to fill. Ron had always been the closest brother to her, but even he couldn't understand.

When Ginny stood up and wheeled around to go back to the Burrow, Ron stopped laughing and tried to dissuade her from leaving, but Ginny took no heed of his words.

_Just because I'm a girl and the youngest—just because I fell off a broom—it doesn't mean they should stop me from flying,_ Ginny thought miserably.

She walked on, wondering for how long her secret would remain with her, wondering when someone would see how much she loved every minute of flying...wondering if there really _was_ someone who'd understand....

Ginny looked up. The first star had appeared. Ginny thought all stars twinkled, but this one didn't—she'd have to ask Bill about it later, but anyway, it still looked like a star fit for wishing things on....

Ginny closed her eyes and wished with all her might. _I wish...I wish...someday I can play Quidditch with all my brothers happy for me. I wish _someone_ would just understand...and when he catches me when I fall off my broom I'll know he'll _really _understand...._

As she opened her eyes, Ginny realized that she had more than one wish. But then again, the girls she knew wished for new toys and such, and the things she wished for tonight weren't too much to ask.

_**NOTES:** I would like to thank my accomplices, Mea (coffeebean) and Jesser (Alcarcalime) for sending this fic back and forth between them, and Cai for wanting to read this before anybody else. The names of the Chudley Cannons players are actually those of real-life British record-holders for...gymnastics. :)_


	2. Chapter One

_**Notes:**Thanks, **Mea** and **Jesser**, for the relentless complaints about the commas. Haha! Quite a lot of you may have expected the scenario in this chapter to happen. I should know -- I hang out a lot in the Orange Crush. :)_

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter One_

In her dream, Ginny was eleven years old again and she was retracing familiar steps through the dark, empty corridors of Hogwarts. She understood why she was there somehow, and yet, though she wanted so badly to go back to the warm comfort of her bed, an invisible force insisted on making her move—a force she was unable to fight. The force was inside her mind, strangling her will, so that she _wanted_ to obey it. It did not coerce her to take the path towards the girls' bathroom; in fact, as much as she resisted being controlled, letting that force take over her being was so _simple_ that she could easily fall into it and let go....

As part of her wits struggled to free herself from the reins that had gotten hold of it, it suddenly closed upon a name: _Tom_. It was he who was doing this to her. She struggled harder—she didn't want him to control her!—she didn't want him to kill—to _kill_—

"Tom, let me go!" she tried to yell, but her mouth could only move without a sound. The force inside her, however, heard it.

_"What's the matter, Virginia?"_ Tom said. His voice was like cold breath upon her neck. _"I thought you had given yourself to me..."_

"No...I haven't..." she said, but her words seemed to fade into the depths of her mind. Tom was taking over again. She felt her cold hands lock behind her; her feet that she had tried to plant firmly on the ground were moving again.

_"You've let me use you,"_ Tom went on. There was a cruel laugh hiding in the voice. _"You told me you'd let me use yourself to get Harry Potter..."_

_Harry... _

"NO!" Ginny's voice suddenly rung out in the dark hallway. "You won't get him—I won't let you!"

Tom laughed—a cold, cruel, high-pitched laugh that didn't sound like the handsome sixteen-year-old he had been. _"Why, I thought you just had, Virginia..."_

In her mind's eye, the Tom Riddle that had let her see him through the diary smiled—but it was different from the charming, kind smile she had known. It was...cruel..._evil_. Purely evil.

And suddenly she was drowning again...drowning into Tom Riddle. The last remnants of resistance left her. When she spoke again, it was of a different language. 

And then she was falling. She didn't have to scream. She was going to face a slow death but she unknowingly, yet willingly embraced it...

* * *

Ginny awoke with a jerk, panting and clutching the sheets around her. She was sprawled in the middle of her four-poster bed—she wasn't falling off something, as she had felt as she was dreaming, but it took her a while to really believe it.

She sat up, still shaking, and pulled open the curtains around her bed to let in fresh air. She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. _Not again,_ Ginny thought, wanting to be angry but couldn't, for terror was a stronger emotion at that moment. _It's been so long since._ She'd had dreams like this one before—worse, even—yet no matter how many times she saw, or heard, or felt _him_, she never got over the dread that haunted her upon waking up. She never got over the fear that what happened five years ago might happen again....

"'Morning."

Startled, Ginny whipped around to find Jane Rochford regarding her sleepily from her bed.

"Oh," Ginny mumbled, pretending to straighten out her sheets. "G'morning."

Jane was now looking at her closely. "You all right, Ginny?"

"Huh?" Ginny nonchalantly replied. She tried to gather her hair, only to find out that they were stuck to her sweaty neck. Hiding her slight surprise, she smiled at Jane. "Sure I am. What time is it?"

"Uh...twenty-five minutes to eight."

"Oh, _damn_," Ginny muttered. She took a towel from her bedside cabinet and bolted towards the bathroom. "I am _so_ late for practice!"

Ten minutes later, Ginny was running flat out towards the Quidditch pitch, her broomstick clutched on one hand. She stopped right in front of Katie Bell, who scowled at her.

"Sorry—overslept—won't happen again—" Ginny apologized between deep breaths.

"I sure hope not, Ginny," said Katie. "Almost an hour late! You know we can't practice well when one's missing!"

"I know, I'm sorry."

Behind Katie, already soaring in the air, were the other players. Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, the Beaters, were on opposite sides of the pitch. Andrew had a Bludger hurtling towards Natalie McDonald, Ginny's fellow Chaser, and Jack was chasing after it. Ron was guarding the goal posts on Andrew's side of the pitch. Meanwhile, above them all, circling the pitch like a hawk, was Harry Potter. The practice seemed to be in full swing even without her.

"Very well," Katie said dismissively. Ginny forced her eyes back on their captain. "Take your place—oh, bloody hell, what are _they_ doing here already?"

Katie had her eyes on something behind Ginny. Turning around, Ginny saw seven people in green robes on the stands, watching them overtly.

The other Gryffindor players seem to have noticed, too; the balls were forgotten as they started yelling at each other. Harry and Ron started to make a move towards the Slytherins when Natalie flew close to them, as though telling them to drop it.

Ginny watched as Harry recklessly wheeled his broomstick around and dove towards them. She had seen enough of Harry's flying to know that he certainly wasn't going to crash, but still, seeing his irate face as he approached made her think otherwise.

"Katie, make them go away!" Harry demanded even as he landed. "They're _openly_ spying on us."

"No, they're not," said Katie quietly. "They reserved the pitch for eight o'clock—and you know Snape, he _always_ gets his way—"

Ginny and Katie winced as Harry swore violently. Ginny couldn't look at Katie—if she had only arrived earlier, they would've had a better practice.

Katie sighed and raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Listen, we can still make the most of the ten minutes we have left _if_ you go up there, now. You too, Ginny, we haven't got all day."

Ginny caught Harry give her a fleeting, exasperated look as he climbed on his Firebolt once again. Feeling slightly aggravated, she followed his lead.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Ginny said coolly, glaring at his nape. "I overslept."

Harry didn't even turn around to look back. "It's a wonder some people still oversleep nowadays," Ginny heard him mutter as he took off.

_If you only knew,_ Ginny told him mentally, rolling her eyes as she kicked off the ground after him. Ginny knew it was one of those days, _again_, when Harry simply wasn't in the mood. She quite understood him actually; that was why she didn't let Harry's last comment get into her. Everybody had gotten used to Harry's bouts of anger ever since last year, and she was one of those very few who actually dared speak her mind about it. Ginny knew that her eleven-year-old self, who had had a huge crush on Harry, would be very mortified indeed if she saw her now.

And anyway, Ginny thought, the Slytherins were just insecure about the next match. Ginny knew Katie had put together a better team than last year. Natalie and Ginny proved to be good Chasers, Ron and the Beaters were more experienced, and Harry—not matter how moody he was this year—was back.

She let her thoughts leave her, however, as she flew higher, the wind raking through her hair, her robes whipping behind her. She didn't even notice the Slytherins eye her from a distance—not even as one of them stood up, wand in hand. Ten minutes of flying certainly wasn't enough—but it was a lot better than not flying at all. Soon, Ginny was in possession of the Quaffle, and her mind was off other things.

They were in the heat of practice five minutes later. Katie passed the Quaffle to Ginny. Seizing it, Ginny dodged a Bludger coming her way, letting Jack strike it towards Andrew, as she raced for the goal. Ginny was so determined to let it go through the goal hoops Ron was guarding that she didn't notice the Bludger turn a hundred and eighty degrees back at her.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Ginny vaguely heard Harry yell; he was too far and she knew his shout wasn't directed at her. Why would it be? She wasn't doing anything wrong, she was near the goal posts, and Ron looked distracted—no, he looked shocked as she approached, it must be her speed—she was near—

"GINNY!" Ron bellowed.

_Crack._

The Bludger hit Ginny at the back of her head. Her eyesight blackened even as the wave of pain washed through her. There was something else pounding within her head, making the pain worse. Her head was going to cleave open, she was sure of it. Ginny held on to her broom for dear life, not knowing what was in front of her—or _below_ her—she couldn't see...and now she couldn't think....

Her mind was going blank—_no, Ginny, wake up!_ the back of her mind yelled at her—but the dark abyss she was falling into seemed much more welcoming. She didn't have to fly; she didn't have to be here with all these people yelling at her...she just wanted to let go....

_"I thought you just had, Virginia...."_

_No..._

And Ginny lost consciousness.

* * *

Headache.

_Where's Mum when you need her?_ Ginny thought in a haze. Her mother had a good hand at minor pains like this; she'd fix this aching head in a tick.

_Mum?_

"Mmm..." Ginny groaned.

Then Ginny heard a voice, sounding nearer and nearer as she broke through unconsciousness, until she realized that it was someone calling her name...

"Ginny...Ginny...are you awake?"

The voice sounded painfully concerned—tearful, even. It was a familiar voice, but she never heard it sound like this. In fact, as she listened harder, it sounded really stupid.

"Ginny? Hey, Ginny...come on...please...?"

Ginny pried her eyes open. She tried moving her head, but she realized that she couldn't do so without giving herself further pain in the head and neck. A hazy figure then appeared floating above her—it was a face, complete with red hair that seemed uncombed for a month.

"Ginny? _Ginny?_"

"Ron," Ginny mumbled.

As Ginny's eyesight became more focused, she saw Ron looking ecstatically relieved. "We thought you'd.... Are you really okay?"

Ginny made a face. "Ron, you idiot, I'm not dying," she croaked.

"She's okay," Ginny heard another voice say in conclusion. Hermione Granger's face came into sight, looking relieved as well, though more cheerful. "I told you, Ron, Ginny can handle it. Probably even better than you."

Ginny blinked at the two of them. "Handle...what?"

"A Bludger on the head," another voice said in response.

With a groan, Ginny tilted her head up to find Harry sitting on the other end of the bed. His face was expressionless—or rather, Ginny thought, he seemed to make it look so.

Ginny let her head fall back on her pillow; as she did, another jab of pain shot through her head. She winced, suppressing a yelp.

"Bludger?" Ginny repeated weakly. "I don't remember any Bludger..."

"You didn't see it," said Ron, his smile fading. "But I was yelling at you, remember?"

Ginny stared at Ron, trying to remember. The last memory she could recall was of herself running to the Quidditch pitch...then flying...of soaring towards a shocked-looking Ron...of hearing Harry holler....

"Wow," Ginny said. "Are Andrew and Jack still that bad?"

"Nope," said Ron. He suddenly looked furious. "It was Malfoy—he hexed the Bludger so that it flew after you."

"He had detention and fifty points off Slytherin," Hermione added darkly. "Professor McGonagall wanted a harsher punishment since Malfoy deliberately hurt a fellow student, but Professor Snape made it sound as if it was an accident."

Ginny looked blankly at her brother and Hermione. "So...Malfoy risked being expelled just to get me off the team, so that they'd win in the match next week?"

"I think it's more than that," said Harry quietly. "Does Bat-Bogey Hex ring a bell?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "He wants _revenge_ for that?"

"Well." Ginny saw Harry smile slightly. "You know Malfoy. Ruining his physique is a big thing for him."

Ginny couldn't help but smirk back. As she did, her gaze fell on the window to her right. The sky was aflame; it was sunset.

"Seems like I missed the whole day," she mused.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "It's already Tuesday, Ginny," said Hermione.

_"Tuesday?"_

"You've been unconscious since you fell last Saturday..."

Ginny blinked as she processed this last bit of information. "I...fell off my broom..."

"Oh, Harry caught you on his Firebolt," Ron said, abruptly switching into an enthusiastic mood. "Then he carried you off to here."

Ginny scowled at Ron, knowing exactly what went on in her brother's head. Then she looked at Harry. He had looked away, obviously avoiding her gaze.

Ginny suddenly couldn't keep herself from smiling. "That's twice you saved my neck already—thanks."

Harry shrugged, still staring determinedly at the door. "'Twas nothing," he said gruffly.

Ginny looked back at Ron and held him in a murderous glare.

"Your broom's fine," Ron added, not at all affected by Ginny's gaze. "It's back in your room."

"Oh—Miss Weasley! You're awake."

Ron, Hermione and Harry jumped at the new voice. Madam Pomfrey came striding towards them, carrying a tray laden with nasty-looking potion bottles. Hermione and Ron stepped aside to let Madam Pomfrey examine Ginny.

"Well, seems like you're ready to leave tonight," said Madam Pomfrey, lifting both of Ginny's eyelids. "Another dose of Rancid Rupture Remedy before you go, I'd say."

Ginny saw Harry wince. Catching her eye, he smiled sympathetically.

"You three," Madam Pomfrey said, eyeing Harry, Ron and Hermione, "should be going off to dinner now. Miss Weasley will join you in no time."

"We were just going," said Hermione, hastily grabbing her bag; Harry and Ron did the same. "Ginny—Jane and your other friends came around before us. I told them to leave some of their notes behind so you'll be able to catch up with lessons—they're there, on that cabinet," she added, pointing.

Ginny inwardly groaned at the sight of the stack of books and parchment on her bedside cabinet and feigned a grateful smile at Hermione.

"Well, see you," said Ron, still grinning.

As Hermione and Ron slipped out of the hospital wing, Harry glanced back at her, and if Ginny weren't feeling too dizzy she would've clearly seen Harry give her another sympathetic smile.

She could have needed it—the Rancid Rupture Remedy was impossibly bad and it gave her an aftertaste of rotten sprouts when she was done. But Ginny tolerated it, and when Madam Pomfrey left, she uncomplainingly took the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five_ on the cabinet and absently flipped through its pages, trying to forget about the slight throbbing behind her head as a result of the potion.

If Madam Pomfrey would let her, she'd be on the pitch again on Wednesday and Thursday nights for last-minute practice. She suddenly couldn't wait again. It was just lucky that her injuries weren't so bad for her to miss practice _and_ the game versus Slytherin altogether—just lucky that Harry had caught her when she fell off her broomstick.

Ginny let her mind wander to Harry, who was angry at her just before she got hit by the Bludger, and then caught her onto his Firebolt. It would have been so much better if Harry were less tense about things and would smile more often....

The sky outside pulled at her gaze again. Indigo and pink were contesting dominance as the first stars appeared. The brightest of them all didn't twinkle—Ginny smiled and recalled Bill explaining to her when she was eight years old that it shines as it is because it's Venus, and planets don't twinkle. She had asked him because she wished upon that same star, that....

...If she fell off a broomstick...

Ginny suddenly bolted upright—and promptly yelped, "OUCH!"

"Miss Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, running towards her. "You know better than moving so suddenly and hurting yourself further!"

"S-sorry," Ginny mumbled, rubbing the back of her head. "I—just—remembered something...."

"Well, don't do it again," Madam Pomfrey said grumpily. "You _do_ want to play against Slytherin, don't you?"

"I know, Madam Pomfrey," Ginny said wearily.

Ginny settled back on her pillows, trying to make sense of what had just happened as something squeezed at her heart. Harry had caught her when she fell off her broom! Didn't she wish for it at the age of eight?

Ginny closed her eyes, trying to remember exactly what it was that she had wished for. She had wished that..._that_ someone who would understand her would catch her....

At that thought, Ginny chuckled to herself and felt more relaxed as she remembered a day in Grimmauld Place not too long ago...

_"Well, that was a bit stupid of you, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."_

_"I forgot."_

It was a sad thought, really...but Harry really didn't understand...whether it was Quidditch or...or what had happened in her first year.... But then again, at least she wasn't tied to a wish that seemed about to come to reality. It didn't sound too good, knowing what the future held....

However, as Ginny tried to go back to sleep again, she found that couldn't do away with the thought that... she wasn't quite sure if she really _didn't_ want the wish to come true.


	3. Chapter Two

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter Two_

It was an eerie feeling, Ginny reflected later on, when you miss four days of your life and find that virtually nothing has changed.

Coming back to Gryffindor Tower had been rather uneventful, as most Gryffindors had gone to sleep. The Quidditch Team was there to welcome her, and she and her four roommates stayed up all night so that she could catch up with what she had missed. Jane, Agnes Greene and Cathy Ernest did a recap of what had taken place when Ginny was brought to the hospital wing—Malfoy getting detention and Professor McGonagall deducting fifty points from Slytherin, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team promising retaliation, Colin Creevey's mouse running amok when he attempted to Vanish it in Transfiguration, the insane amount of homework given to them by Professor Snape for Potions. There was nothing special about them all, and as for Malfoy's detention, it wasn't something new, as Hermione had told her all about it.

After discussing Kneazles with Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures on Wednesday morning, Ginny, Agnes and Cathy met Jane (who was instead taking Muggle Studies) in the Great Hall for lunch.

Ginny found herself sitting where she had a plain view of the Ravenclaw table—something she hadn't been able to do since the beginning of the school year. _Accidental,_ Ginny thought. _Purely accidental._

"I don't believe it," Jane was saying. "That cat of Hermione Granger's? A Kneazle?"

"Ginny was just telling us," Agnes said. "Right, Ginny?"

Ginny tore her eyes off a dark-haired sixth-year boy, who was sitting with his fellow Ravenclaws with his back on her. "No, not a Kneazle," she said, as though interested. "A _half_-Kneazle. Funny I never noticed. I always thought Crookshanks was a bit too smart..."

Ginny took a chicken leg from the huge bowl in front of her. As she did, her eyes traveled onto the Ravenclaw table again, where a dark-haired girl sat beside the boy Ginny had been watching earlier. The boy took one look at the girl and grinned, putting an arm around her waist.

"You said it likes chasing gnomes in your garden," Cathy said. "Does he eat them?"

"Oh no," Ginny said offhandedly, forking her potatoes a tad too savagely. "He just likes killing them."

"Yeah?"

"Well, no, not really..."

A scowl had begun to form on Ginny's forehead as the Ravenclaw girl playfully slapped the boy's shoulder.

"Maybe he just finds them cute," Agnes suggested.

"Nah," said Ginny, still watching the Ravenclaw table. "They're the ugliest creatures on the planet."

It was a while before Ginny noticed that her three friends had been staring at her as though she had sprouted whiskers.

"What?"

Jane looked at Ginny's plate. "Er—the chicken's all fried, you know."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, so?"

"Well," Jane went on, "there's no need to act as if you're still killing it."

Ginny looked at her chicken leg. It was ripped to shreds—by herself, obviously.

"Sorry," Ginny muttered. "You just—oh, you just can't eat properly when two people do gag-worthy things in front of you!" she finished in frustration.

Agnes and Cathy, who were sitting across Ginny and Jane, looked at each other knowingly, and then turned around in unison to find the sixth-year boy whispering something to the girl intimately so that his lips were almost touching her ear.

"Not _him_ again," Jane groaned. "We've settled this since fourth-year, Ginny—Michael Corner's an utter git in the first place, we've known it all along—"

"No, Jane," said Cathy reproachfully, turning back to Jane. "It's really difficult, you see, if you've been going out with a boy for more than a year and he suddenly gets mad at you for winning against his house."

"And then he goes off with Cho Chang whom we all know is everybody's dream girl," Agnes added. "Seems like he had the eyes for her ever since."

"Well, it's no reason to be miserable," Jane told Ginny. "It shouldn't be affecting you at all."

Ginny rolled her eyes at the three girls. "Honestly, why are we talking about this?"

"Yeah, who started it anyway?" Jane said, grinning at Ginny.

Ginny decided not to push it; instead, she took a huge bite of what was left of her chicken, as though to bite back what she wanted to say. She kept her eyes on Michael and Cho, though, daring them to turn around and see her. _But if they can only see me unaffected by all this...._

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Ron and Hermione stand up together and leave the Great Hall. It was a common sight already to see the two of them doing Prefect duties together, with Hermione usually having to haul Ron all the way. Looking back at the seats they left, however, Ginny saw that Harry was left alone, staring into empty space.

Ginny watched as Harry drag his spoon across his plate, bring his food into his mouth, and chew. His every motion seemed calculated—every movement of his jaw, every dart of his eyes around him. He did it at such a slow pace that Ginny seemed to look at him through a sort of haze, as though he was in another world. And, Ginny thought, he probably was.

Suddenly, Harry's jaw clenched as he stopped chewing—and Ginny _knew_ he was going to look at her next as though he felt her eyes on him. Ginny, however, didn't avert her gaze—she met his eyes, and smiled.

Harry looked mildly surprised. But then, after a moment, he returned her smile—a somewhat strained smile; not exactly because of her but because of whatever was in his thoughts before he caught her looking at him.

As if on cue, they both looked back onto their plates at the same time.

"...Still playing against Slytherin, aren't you?"

"What?" Ginny asked. "Oh...of course! My head's all fixed. It's not as bad as you think."

"A Bludger on the head and four days of unconsciousness _isn't so bad_?" Jane said indignantly.

Ginny started to smile. "At least I'll still get to play."

* * *

Ginny was to learn later, after classes, just how bad her injury really was.

"Are you _sure_ you'll be able to fly now?" Katie asked Ginny that afternoon in the Quidditch pitch.

Ginny knew that she couldn't answer otherwise; there was no reserve Chaser, after all. She answered truthfully, anyway. "Very sure."

Ron had already taken his place at the goal posts. Andrew and Jack, meanwhile, released the two Bludgers from the crate holding the Quidditch balls. Ginny stared after them as they flew in zigzags around the pitch. She hadn't known just how dangerous they were, not until after she spent those four days in the hospital wing.

Beside Ginny, Harry took the Snitch from the crate.

"Ready, Harry?" asked Katie.

Harry gave a curt nod.

Ginny watched, amused, as the Snitch struggled in Harry's fist for a moment—and then took off when Harry opened his palms. He waited a moment as the Snitch disappeared from view.

"I'm off," said Harry, almost to himself. Then, he hopped on his Firebolt—and _grinned_, and then flew after the Snitch.

Katie had taken hold of the Quaffle. "Ginny—Natalie—let's go."

Ginny followed Natalie as she zoomed into the middle of the pitch. _Here we go,_ Ginny thought, bliss overcoming her again. _Right where I belong._

But just as Ginny soared into the air, an odd thing happened—pain shot through the back of her head, continuing to her eyes—

"Ouch!" Ginny gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing the pain to recede. Her broom suddenly dipped downwards.

_"Ginny!"_

Ginny opened her eyes and saw that she was rapidly descending; she pulled up at the last minute. The sudden change in acceleration hurt her head again.

_"Ginny!"_

Ginny saw Katie above her. She slowed down a bit so that Katie could release the Quaffle to her. But Ginny suddenly saw _two_ Katies—_two_ Quaffles—

Ginny closed her eyes again and shook her head quickly. When she looked again, the Quaffle was right above her. She grabbed it with her right hand—but pain took hold of her head again, and she dropped the Quaffle.

"Damn it!" Ginny cried. She never dropped a Quaffle in practices before.

Ginny heard Katie whistle and head downwards. Ginny and the rest of the players followed her lead.

"Are you okay, Ginny?" asked Natalie, squinting at her.

Ginny landed carefully on the ground. "Y-yes, it's just..."

"You were dipping downwards, I saw it!" Ron yelled when he and Harry approached them. "What's going on?"

"It's just—my head. My eyes. I—I guess it's just me flying after—after the Bludger attack—"

"What's it like?" Jack asked.

Ginny inwardly sighed—did she really have to explain it all? "There's a—a little pain here." She touched the back of her head.

"Like it's still being hit," Harry finished for her quietly.

"Well—yeah."

"And your eyes?"

Ginny looked at Harry—he was watching her intently, his face void of expression. "I get double vision...they hurt a bit, yeah..."

"Can you still fly?" Katie asked.

Ginny felt her heart skip a beat. Surely they wouldn't think of not letting her play now, would they? "Of course!" she said, more forcefully than she had intended. "It's just my first time in the air after sleeping for four days straight—I'll get the hand of it with practice, I promise!"

Ginny realized that she had been speaking too quickly that she sounded almost desperate. _They can't _not_ let me fly!_ she thought, looking at the disbelieving faces around her.

"Fine then," Katie said. "We'll try it again. Ginny—try not to dip down, okay?"

Once they were up in the air again, Ginny resolved not to close her eyes no matter what pain she might feel.

She found it difficult. Whenever she accelerated, her head acted up again; her eyes would blur in the most crucial moments.

Katie passed the Quaffle to Ginny once more. Ginny caught it without any problem. She zoomed towards Ron's end of the pitch—but just as she was about to toss the Quaffle to Natalie, her vision blurred again. She saw two Natalies—and not knowing which was the real one, Ginny ended up throwing the Quaffle a little too far to the left.

They tried again. Katie passed the Quaffle to Ginny; Ginny fumbled with it a bit. She thought of flying closer to Natalie, but just as she accelerated, the pain in her head caused her to slow down—and Natalie to crash onto her. Ginny hurtled off, almost crashing with Andrew, steadying herself only to find that Katie and Natalie were already racing towards Ron without her.

More errors like these occurred. The Chasers' planned and practiced passing suffered greatly when Ginny wasn't able to execute her moves properly. After half an hour, Katie called for timeout.

Katie immediately turned to her. "Ginny," she said, almost shouting, "we can't have that kind of game on Saturday!"

"I'm working on it, I swear!" Ginny insisted. "If this headache would just come off—"

"You almost fell off again," Ron said. "Ginny, if you really can't play—"

"I _can_!" Ginny yelled at her brother's face. "Nobody can replace me..."

Katie looked at Ginny thoughtfully. "That Weston guy in your year, Natalie," she finally said. "He was quite good during the tryouts—he just didn't make it in the second one—"

Ginny felt her heart sink to her stomach. "Katie—"

"It _is_ dangerous for you to fly," Andrew said helpfully.

Jack nodded. "It's scary, looking at you almost falling down again—"

"I'm going to _kill_ Malfoy," Ginny said through gritted teeth. Then, more loudly, she said, "Weston doesn't know our techniques, Katie—we've planned our moves for ages."

"Executing it is another thing," said Katie.

Ginny stared at her desperately, extremely frustrated. What they were asking is impossible. It would kill her _not_ to play. "You're not serious about replacing me _two days_ before the match, are you?"

Katie pursed her lips. "If you fall off again..."

"I'm _not_ going to fall off," Ginny said. "Katie—_please_."

Ginny looked at the rest of the team's faces. They stared back. It must be her imagination, but it seemed to her that they all looked back doubtfully, as though they all didn't want her to play.

Ginny's heart that had been in the pit of her stomach started to rise to her throat.

"I want to play," Ginny said, almost inaudibly. "I'll do all that I can to fix this."

There was a moment of silence. All of them seemed to be internally debating on what to do with her. And then—

"Let her stay."

Ginny looked up in surprise—Harry, with his arms folded on his chest, was staring resolutely at Katie.

Katie raised an eyebrow at him.

"She's right," Harry went on quietly. "You can't replace her, she knows the Chasers' moves already, and those moves are made partly because of her own techniques. You know that."

Katie pursed her lips once again. "But she could—"

"I _won't_ fall," Ginny said, more strongly, now that someone was backing her up. "And I'll really work on this."

"Ginny—" Ron protested.

"I'm not a baby, Ron," Ginny growled.

Ron did not say anything.

Ginny waited for Katie's verdict. She glanced at Harry; she saw him give her the vaguest of smiles.

"Well...you have a lot to practice on, Ginny, if that head of yours still acts up when you're flying..."

"I don't care," Ginny said quickly. Her spirits started to rise.

"Well...all right. I'm letting you stay."

Ginny broke into a grin. She wanted to hug Katie, but the solemn atmosphere that had fallen on them just a while ago made the idea seem awkward.

"Thank you," she said instead.

"No problem. I guess we'd better start again..."

The practice was far from satisfactory. Ginny hated herself for having the sudden headaches and double vision—she made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey if there was any remedy for it. But the desire to prove herself spurred her on, coupled with her natural desire of flying. She wasn't going to let the team, and herself, down.

Another half an hour later of practice passed until Katie called it a day. The sun had already begun to set when the team started packing up.

Ginny watched as Andrew and Jack wrestled with the Bludgers and put them back into the crate.

"Here," Harry said beside Ginny. He handed Jack the Snitch, which Jack put into the crate.

Just as Harry was about to walk back to the castle, Ginny called, "Hey."

Harry whirled around to face her. He smiled again at her, that little, almost painful smile.

"Thanks for backing me up."

Harry's smile widened, just a little bit. He shrugged. "Just watching the team win can be frustrating."

Ginny grinned. Of course, Harry knew that well, as she took his place as Seeker just last year when he was banned. "Yeah, I know..."

"And, well..." Harry started to grin. "We can't crush Slytherin without you."

Ginny let out a laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Harry nodded. Then he turned around to follow Ron back to the castle.

Ginny was the last to go back.

* * *

Ginny thought about Harry before she slept night. It was like regressing to her first year, when she had thought of every little brush in corridors and every smile Harry had given her. Recollecting those days of hopelessly crushing on Harry Potter often brought a smile to Ginny's face nowadays.

But her thoughts of Harry were different tonight. She thought of Harry's angry countenance last Saturday when she had been late. She thought of his expressionless face in the hospital wing when he told her that she was hit on the head. She thought of him looking away—embarrassed, perhaps—when Ron teased the two of them.

Then, she thought of the small smile he had given her in the Great Hall during lunch, the grin that he had when he chased after the Snitch, and the grin that had brightened his face, even for a fleeting moment, when she thanked him after Quidditch practice. So many faces, so unpredictable. And yet, with what Harry was going through, it was no question why he was like that.

It was the last thought in Ginny's mind as she fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

_**Notes:** Many, MANY thanks to those who have reviewed! *waves* And to Mea and Jess, my beloved betas -- couldn't have done it without your help. The names of Ginny's roommates are lifted from the heroines of my favorite authors -- yep, you guessed right, the Brontë sisters. :-)_


	4. Chapter Three

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter Three_

"It's not anything permanent, Miss Weasley, so if I were you I'd stop fretting about it."

"But Madam Pomfrey," Ginny said pleadingly, "it's interfering with my flying. Yesterday I almost crashed to the ground and this afternoon I collided onto Jack Sloper. And we're playing against Slytherin on Saturday!"

Madam Pomfrey set the brass instrument she had been holding down and regarded Ginny witheringly. "If you weren't bent on participating in such dangerous games, you wouldn't have this problem at all."

Ginny knew that arguing this point was futile—Madam Pomfrey had always shaken her head at Quidditch, as she'd had a number of patients with Quidditch-related accidents in the hospital wing.

"Can't you do anything about it, though?" Ginny asked worriedly.

Madam Pomfrey picked up the instrument—it was shaped like a tube with a cone-shaped thing on top, upon which a glass disk was fixed—and once again held it over Ginny's right eye. "It's a condition that will heal itself," she said as she stretched the skin around Ginny's eyes and peered through the cone. "No problem here either. I could give you a potion to lessen the pain in your head, but I doubt it will do any good."

"When do you think I'll be able to fly normally again?"

"In a few weeks, perhaps. With a lot of flying, so that your head will get used to it," Madam Pomfrey added, almost reluctantly.

Ginny sat up straight, grinning. "So you'll recommend me playing Quidditch more often to cure this?" she asked hopefully.

"I said _flying_, not playing Quidditch," Madam Pomfrey snapped. "And no, I won't give you special permission to have the Quidditch pitch all to yourself. In fact I'd say you keep off the pitch till you get tired of the game completely."

Ginny stared at Madam Pomfrey, her grin faltering. Surely she was only joking? She, Ginny Weasley, give up Quidditch for a mere headache?

Ginny suddenly felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. _In any case, how am I going to play Quidditch well in this state?_ she wondered.

Madam Pomfrey let Ginny go after a while, giving her a bottle of potion to take before the match on Saturday. However, Ginny felt hardly any better than when she came to the hospital wing that evening. Every step she took as she walked back to Gryffindor Tower was painfully slow; she was sure to find her teammates there, looking hopeful, asking whether Madam Pomfrey had found an antidote to her headache and double vision. She couldn't let them down, not when they all trusted in her own assurance that she'd be able to help Gryffindor win, even in her condition. Not when Harry trusted her so much that he stood up for her....

Ginny shook her head. _It's not just about Harry,_ she told herself firmly. Practice today had been only a slight improvement from yesterday's and she doubted that it was enough to beat the Slytherins on Saturday. _And it's all crapped up because of me,_ Ginny thought grimly. _We weren't like that before I got hit by that bloody Bludger. No, make that bloody Malfoy._ Her other teammates had been concerned, but they couldn't take her out of the team now. She knew Katie was now inwardly wishing she had taken a reserve Chaser.

Ginny went into the common room quietly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting on the armchairs by the fire, barely looking up from a deep conversation. Her roommates were on one of the long study tables, no doubt doing the Potions essay due tomorrow. The rest of the Quidditch team, except for Katie, was on the carpeted floor, hushing from their talk as Ginny approached them.

"What did Madam Pomfrey say?" Natalie asked.

Ginny shook her head in defeat. "She said it'll heal itself in time...it won't be long," she added quickly, seeing her teammates' shocked faces. "It'll be just a matter of weeks, apparently..."

"Yeah, but the match is two days from now," said Andrew.

_Don't you think I know?_ Ginny almost snapped out loud. Taking a calming deep breath, she held up the bottle of potion Madam Pomfrey had given her. "This is supposed to lessen the pain."

"Oh, good," said Andrew.

It was a good thing that Ginny decided to leave out the "I doubt it'll do anything good" part; her teammates looked satisfied enough at her news. Sighing heavily, she headed to her dormitory, took out her parchment, quill, and books, and headed back to the common room to join her friends.

"That potion's no good, huh?" Cathy asked.

Ginny was glad her roommates understood better. "No," she said glumly, spreading out a blank parchment in front of her. "It's a wonder Madam Pomfrey still gave it to me. Are you all done with your essays?"

Agnes took out her three-feet parchment, which was three-quarters filled already. "Almost. Took us all evening."

"Damn. I'll have to stay up all night writing it."

Jane waved her parchment in front of Ginny. "Want to borrow?"

Ginny snorted, remembering the last time her Potions essay looked like one of her roommates'. "No, thanks. I'd rather do it on my own."

Jane, Agnes and Cathy looked at each other, rolling their eyes.

The common room emptied as the night deepened. At eleven o'clock, Ginny's roommates pleaded sleepiness and headed upstairs. By half-past eleven, Ginny guessed that there were only half a dozen people left, judging by the low murmurs behind her. She, meanwhile, struggled to be awake to finish the Potions essay.

Ginny was still lacking five inches when something caught her attention.

"...Resuming D.A., I always thought it's a good idea..."

Ginny's quill stopped above her parchment. It was Hermione. Ginny strained her ears harder. It was her brother who spoke next.

"I think it's a good idea," Ron said a bit uneasily.

Ginny expected Harry to speak next, but there was only silence.

She carefully turned around on her seat. Harry, Ron and Hermione were still on the armchairs by the fire. The only other person in the room was Neville Longbottom who, like Ginny, sat arrested on his seat, listening to the three.

Harry was the first who noticed. He looked up at them sharply, but neither looked away.

"W—well...it's okay if Neville and Ginny hear, right?" said Hermione. "I mean, we're all part of it..."

Neville stared at Hermione for a moment, and then spoke up. "I think it's a good idea, too."

Ginny expected Harry to stubbornly shake his head—which was exactly what he did.

"We had D.A. last year because Umbridge didn't teach us _anything_," said Harry. "We get on well with Professor Shacklebolt, we don't need D.A.—"

"It's not the competency of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that's in question now," Hermione said patiently. "It's—it's the situation around us—"

"The Order is working on it," Harry said with finality. Ginny, however, noticed a certain bitterness in his words.

For a while, the five of them didn't say anything. Ginny had tried to forget about the incident in the Department of Mysteries—it was no use dwelling on it. But now that they were all here, save for Luna Lovegood, it was as though they were all together again, with one mission.... They all knew what happened last June...what they found out...who they saw, and who died...

...And she saw Harry, eyes aflame, with a terrible fury emanating from him, chasing after that woman who killed Sirius....

"So you're just going to stand back and let the Order do all the work?" Ginny spoke up so suddenly that she surprised even herself. "I'd have expected a lot more from you."

Harry looked up again sharply; this time, he fixed a steely gaze on Ginny, as if daring her to speak.

"What are you talking about?" he asked coldly.

"I'm only saying that just because the Order is well-established now doesn't mean you don't have to recall D.A. anymore," Ginny said calmly. She glanced at Ron, Hermione and Neville; they were all staring at her, mouths agape. "And I'm not talking about revenge either—"

"This isn't about Sirius," Harry interrupted. Each word was spoken with a hardness Ginny had heard many times before. His voice was dangerously close to rising.

Ginny bit the insides of her mouth. Of _ course_ Harry would deny it. He was looking at her, his eyes narrowed. There was a glint in them that almost scared her.

She decided to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, she went on. "Put it this way, Harry. It's not about anything but giving the rest of us tips on how to defend ourselves out there. It's more imperative that you teach us how to _now_. It's all there is, nothing more."

She said all of this without breaking contact with Harry's icy ones. Ginny knew that she had lied; she knew that there was a deeper reason as to why Harry didn't want to resume D.A. But she didn't say it aloud. That would have to wait.

It was Harry who first looked away. His gaze fell onto the fire; his chest rose and fell in quick successions as though simply thinking of the D.A. tired him.

"Harry—" Hermione began, but Harry had stood up, snatching his books.

"I'm going."

Without another word, and without looking at any of them, Harry made his way up to the sixth-year boys' dormitory, leaving Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Neville staring after him.

* * *

Before Ginny knew it, it was Saturday.

Last year, when she replaced Harry as Seeker for Gryffindor, she was unable to eat before the match.

This year, it was worse. If she couldn't eat before, she wanted to throw up badly now, even if there was nothing inside her stomach. _Maybe I'd just hurl everything up, including my guts,_ she thought. Her plate lay empty in front of her. _And then they'd carry me off to the hospital wing. The team would move to postpone the match. But Madam Hooch wouldn't have it. And besides, I'm going to face Slytherins if it's the last thing I do, and even if they start singing "Weasley Is Our Queen"._

"I'm telling you, it's times like these when you just have to do things for this one to make her move," Ginny vaguely heard Jane saying. Jane was already placing bacon on Ginny's plate.

"Not hungry," Ginny mumbled.

"You need it," Cathy insisted.

"I'd be dizzy on air if I eat."

"You'd faint on air if you don't," Jane said pointedly.

Sensing defeat, Ginny reluctantly forked a strip of bacon and placed it into her mouth. She might as well have chewed on her napkin. As she did, she cast a surreptitious glance to her left. Ron and Hermione sat side-by-side, making polite conversation with Harry, who sat in front of them. Ron seemed a lot less edgy before the match than last year. Meanwhile, Harry ate his breakfast slowly, apathetically, just as he did the last time she watched him.

But he didn't look her way this time. Neither did they speak to each other since Thursday night. Come to think of it, since then, she never saw Harry act the way he always did around Ron and Hermione anymore.

For some reason, the gnawing sensation in her stomach seemed to worsen. She looked back at Jane, Cathy and Agnes distraughtly. "What's wrong with me?"

"Beats the hell out of me," said Jane. "You were desperate to remain on the team just last Wednesday."

"Now it's like you want to back out," said Agnes.

"I still don't," Ginny muttered.

"I knew it," said Jane, smiling impishly. "I knew that Bludger did something worse to your head."

Ginny normally would have retorted, but she found that she didn't have the energy left to do so. "Maybe you're right," she said weakly. And then, "I need a drink. Chocolate. Make that two mugs." _I should have asked Fred and George to smuggle Firewhiskey last night._

* * *

Ginny drank the potion Madam Pomfrey had given her in the Gryffindor locker room. Throwing the bottle aside, she fell back on one of the benches, feeling dizzy.

"You all ready?" Katie asked.

"Ready!" Natalie yelled enthusiastically.

"You bet we are," said Jack.

"Ginny?" asked Katie.

Ginny forced an excited look and gave her a thumbs-up.

"No more headaches?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Great. All right, huddle up," said Katie, motioning for everyone to form a circle around her. Ginny dragged herself to the others. "I know the last two practices weren't as good as we had expected"—Ginny felt her ears grow warm as she looked at her feet—"but we've always been good, we've done better than our best...."

_Oh, save it for the next game, Katie, _ Ginny thought, not hearing the rest of Katie's speech. Then, mentally slapping herself, she thought, _No, I _am_ going to be good at this...so good that the Slytherins won't know what hit them._

"By the way," asked Andrew, "who's the new commentator?"

"Some Ravenclaw bloke named Michael Corner," said Katie offhandedly.

Ginny looked up, eyes wide. Ron and Harry stared at her.

_It's a premonition,_ Ginny thought, staring back, horrified. _This isn't going to be good._

_**Notes:** Quidditch match and a talk coming up. :-)_


	5. Chapter Four

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter Four_

If Ginny would look back to the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match of her fifth year, she would find that she had forgotten most of the details that usually accompanied a successful Quidditch match.

She would recall several things, though—that her performance was appalling, for instance, and that Michael Corner's commentary made it sound worse.

Michael had just announced the score: Fifty to ninety, Slytherin in the lead. _But of course Slytherin is in the lead,_ Ginny thought, angry with herself. Concentrating on the game prevented Ginny from mentally tallying her errors, but she was sure it was more than her fingers could count. If normally her passes were performed with extreme precision—the perfect timing at the exact position—now she could barely make a pass without causing herself or the other Gryffindor Chasers to fumble with the Quaffle. If, before the accident (_You bloody well know it wasn't an accident,_ Ginny told herself), her flying was smooth, executed almost effortlessly, now she struggled to keep her flying stable. And knowing what a fast-paced game Quidditch is, Ginny knew that every second—and therefore every fumble—had been crucial.

Presently Ginny was battling, as she had been for the past hour, with the relentless pounding on the back of her head. Katie had just dropped the Quaffle to her; now she was racing towards the goal guarded by Bletchey, the Slytherin Keeper, flanked on both sides by Slytherin Chasers.

"Give it up, Weasley!" yelled Pucey from her right.

Ginny kept her eyes onto the goal posts, Quaffle tucked under her right arm, clutching the handle of her broomstick hard to steady herself; the pain was causing her to lose her balance. Michael's voice boomed in the background: "IT'S WEASLEY WITH THE QUAFFLE, CAN SHE FLY ALL THE WAY TO THE GOAL THIS TIME? CAN SHE NOW? _BUT WHAT'S MONTAGUE DOING_?"

Ginny suddenly felt the Quaffle slip from her arm—she held on to it tighter—but she was too late—

"MONTAGUE STOLE THE QUAFFLE! Yet ANOTHER error for Chaser Weasley of Gryffindor! Now Montague's flying towards the other end of the pitch—"

"Liked the Bludger I sent you last week, Weasley?"

Ginny looked up. Malfoy was circling the pitch just above her, smirking.

Swearing loudly, Ginny wheeled her broomstick around and tore after Montague. He and Pucey, a few feet apart, were passing the Quaffle to each other. As another wave of pain washed over Ginny's head, she gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her eyes open, her mind set on what she had to do.

"A Bludger from Kirke—misses Montague by inches—Montague still in possession—"

Ginny accelerated; as Montague made to pass the Quaffle to Pucey, she flew in between the two Slytherin Chasers—

"WEASLEY STEALS THE QUAFFLE—NO, SHE DROPS IT—AND MACDONALD CATCHES IT! GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION!"

Ginny heard Montague and Pucey swear as they charged after Natalie. Flying more slowly, Ginny watched as Natalie ducked a Bludger and sent the Quaffle flying cleanly through the goal posts.

"TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!" Michael yelled.

Ginny looked around her. She was at the Gryffindor end of the pitch, very near Ron, while most of the players were on the other side.

Not too far from her, very near the ground, something glinted against the bright sunlight....

A flash of scarlet suddenly dove for it, almost brushing Ginny's side. Another flash, this time of green, rushed towards Ginny from above.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY, WEASLEY!"

Ginny was unable to move, nor did she try to. Malfoy lost some crucial seconds decelerating and swerving around Ginny. During those moments, Harry sped towards the ground, and at the last nanosecond—right when everyone thought the red blur would certainly hit the ground—pulled up.

"AND POTTER... HE'S GOT THE SNITCH!"

Ginny suddenly became aware of the hundreds of spectators on the stands yelling in unison. Harry emerged beside her, clutching the Snitch in his right fist, raising it above his head. He was grinning, almost drunkenly, not so much with triumph as with the exhilaration of having flown at top speed towards the ground, risking his neck in the process.

Katie suddenly materialized beside Harry and gave him a bone-crushing hug. Amidst the cheers of the crowd, the Gryffindor team descended slowly to the ground.

Ginny tried to show _any_ emotion that indicated her happiness at winning, but found that she could not let out even a small smile. She had wanted to fly today to share Gyffindor's triumph. But how could she now, when she did nothing—_nothing_ at all—for the team?

As though hearing her thoughts, Jack Sloper gave her a gentle slap on the back. "Nice blocking, that one between Montague and Pucey—"

"Not funny, Jack," Ginny said coldly.

Jack took his hand away, as though suddenly stung. "Hey, I meant it! When you flew in between those two, remember—?"

Jack cut himself off as Ginny shot him a look that spelled "shut up or you'll get it." She wasn't in the mood for celebrating; her whole body felt leaden. The voice of someone yelling towards the team didn't help matters. She only wanted to go back to her dormitory and lie on her bed.

She shouldn't have remained on the team after she got injured...

"...The best you can do, huh, Weasley?"

Only then did she realize that the shouts were directed towards _her_. Turning around and squinting against the bright sunlight, she saw Draco Malfoy sneering at her.

"Oh no," mumbled Katie. "He's tried this last year, you know he's only a sore loser—"

Malfoy didn't stop, however. "That was all you can do, stay in place until you block the other players, isn't that right?"

Ginny closed her eyes. _I'm not in the mood for this,_ she thought. Aloud, she said, "Let's get out of here."

"That Bludger really did wonders, didn't it?"

"You're just sore you lost even if you had tried to wipe one of us off the pitch," spat Katie. She tugged at Ginny's shoulder and tried to squeeze her way out of the small crowd that had gathered around to congratulate them. "Come on, let's go."

Ginny wheeled around to follow Katie—but not without her seeing the look of malevolent recognition on Malfoy's pale face.

"Do you know that she tried to wipe a few students off the castle a few years back, too? And I don't think it's only because of a Quidditch match."

Ginny suddenly froze. The hair at the back of her neck started to prickle.

Katie had stopped, too, and was now facing Malfoy again, her fingers biting into Ginny's shoulder. "What are you saying?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said suddenly.

Ginny turned around slowly. Harry and Malfoy eyed each other with contempt, but each bore different expressions Ginny was sure she alone could see. Harry's forehead was knotted warily, as though knowing what was coming, and—to Ginny's horror—Malfoy's lips were curled into a knowing, triumphant sneer.

"But of course you know all about it, don't you?" said Malfoy in a low voice. "You went down there to save her, didn't you?"

Harry's eyes darted briefly towards Ginny to his right; the bright sunlight reflected on his glasses made it difficult for her to see what they were telling her. Somehow, it made her feel as though something heavy had sunk into the pit of her stomach.

There was a heavy silence before Harry spoke again, his Adam's apple bobbing once.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Malfoy's eyes scanned the crowd. Upon seeing Ginny, his smile widened, and Ginny already knew what he was going to say next even before he opened his mouth.

"But who can forget about the attacks during our second year? It was her fault, wasn't it?"

Katie took her hand off Ginny's shoulder as though suddenly scalded.

Everybody's eyes turned towards Ginny. Her heart had stopped beating, she was sure of it. It was the only thing that registered in her mind as she stared back at Malfoy.

"IT WASN'T HER FAULT!" someone yelled. It was Ron, who seemed to be the first to come into his senses among the people around them.

"Sure it wasn't," Malfoy said, snickering. "It was only the Dark Lord possessing her."

A startled gasp rippled in the crowd. Several people backed away, as if Ginny reeked of evil, of menace—of _Voldemort_.

Ginny stared at all of them numbly. A whirlwind of emotions was threatening to overcome her; part of her wanted to retort, but something held her back: that part of her which had always known that what Malfoy had just said was true.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Ron take a threatening step towards Malfoy. Jack Sloper, coming to his senses himself, held him back.

"Don't," muttered Jack.

"It was your father's fault in the first place," Ron told Malfoy angrily, completely ignoring Jack. "If he hadn't used that diary to possess Ginny—"

"Ah, now who's going to believe such a tale?" Malfoy said with a laugh.

Ron started to say something, but Ginny didn't hear it. As she stared at Malfoy, she saw Malfoy's hair lengthen...now his pointed chin was held higher...his nose, sharper than before...he was a bit taller now, and he was now his father, and she was an eleven-year-old again, and he was sneering down at her that day in Flourish and Blotts....

_Yes, it _is_ your fault._ The voice in her head sounded like Lucius Malfoy himself. _You wrote in that diary. You let the basilisk out. You _almost_ let Tom Riddle out.... _

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop it," she gasped. "Ron, just stop it..."

As Ginny opened her eyes, the first person she saw was Michael Corner, his face failing to conceal a look of disbelief and deep disgust.

She looked away from him...to find Harry staring back at her helplessly, his mouth opening and closing, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words to do so...

...And suddenly she didn't want to be here anymore.

The crowd easily made way as she ran her way out of the Quidditch pitch, not daring to look behind her.

* * *

_I really should have asked Fred and George to smuggle the damned firewhisky._

It was close to sundown and Ginny's stomach had been rumbling for about an hour now. She didn't feel the need to eat, however; in fact, after hours of wandering aimlessly wherever there was nobody around, she hardly felt like doing anything at all.

Ginny sat on a bench in the Gryffindor changing rooms, her head in her hands. All in one day she had made a fool of herself in Quidditch, bared her secret to the school, and made herself _persona non grata_ in Hogwarts.

She wanted to blame Malfoy. She _should_ blame Malfoy. But Malfoy had _not_ lied. It was she who had been harboring a secret for years now; it was she who had been studying and making friends without showing her true colors.

It had been difficult to seem nonchalant whenever the Chamber of Secrets or the basilisk were mentioned in casual conversations. Her professors, particularly Dumbledore, had insisted that they didn't have to know it was she whom Tom Riddle had possessed, but she had always been afraid of letting herself slip. She didn't want others to think badly of her.

But now that they knew, would they skirt her whenever they passed by her in corridors? Would her classmates want to sit beside her in class? Would they—?

Ginny suddenly looked up. She thought she heard footsteps outside. Ginny's heart sank. _Now_ what would that person behind the door think when he sees her sitting by herself here, as though she was scheming something sinister?

As Ginny watched, a shadow appeared in the afternoon light filtered through the crack under the door. A moment later, the door opened slowly.

To Ginny's surprise, it was Harry who poked his head in.

Harry looked around cautiously; then, upon seeing Ginny, audibly sighed in relief. "There you are."

Ginny shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Yeah. Here I am."

Harry, looking uneasy once again, let himself in. He buried his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Everybody's been worried," he said, peering at her through his glasses. "We've been looking all over for you."

"Yeah, well, you can tell them I went down to the Chamber of Secrets to bring Slytherin's basilisk back to life."

Ginny half expected Harry to scowl and tell her that it wasn't funny, the way Hermione always did at Ginny's dark jokes. Harry, however, merely looked at her and smiled slightly; it didn't seem to bother him.

"We really have to go back," he said, sitting on a bench opposite her, still with his hands in his pockets. "It's getting cold out here."

Ginny hardly noticed. "Oh, just go back there and tell them I'm safe," she told Harry. "I'll be fine. Go on."

Harry returned her gaze. Something in his eyes told Ginny that he was trying to read her. She had nothing to show, however—no tearstains on her cheeks, no puffy eyelids—but perhaps only the remains of the haunted, petrified look in her eyes after the Quidditch match.

Ginny suddenly felt self-conscious. She raised her eyebrows. "Well? What?"

Harry looked away and sighed once more. "Well, I can't go back without bringing you with me, now can I? I'll wait."

Ginny almost laughed out loud. Since when did Harry wait for anyone who didn't seem to want to go with him? She nearly pointed this out, jokingly of course, when Harry took something out of his jacket pocket.

It was a Snitch. It was the one he caught in today's match, Ginny realized.

Harry looked at the Snitch struggling in his fist, its silver wings beating against his fingers. Then Harry released it—and caught it again just when the Snitch started to fly out of his grasp.

Ginny watched, amused, as Harry released the Snitch again and caught it as it flew above his head. He did this over and over again, releasing, catching, letting the Snitch go and capturing it again. It was a game, thought Ginny. His own little pastime. It was just strange that she never saw it before.

In a short while Harry seemed to have forgotten that Ginny was present; he seemed to be lost in his own world, in his own time. As he released and grasped, released and grasped, he seemed to fall farther and farther into his thoughts, leaving her behind.

"Harry," Ginny suddenly blurted out, "what _are_ you doing?"

Harry froze with the Snitch in his fist. He looked at her, seemingly disoriented, and then smiled apologetically. "Something I picked out of...somewhere." He shook his head dismissively. "Are you ready to go back?"

Ginny fixed her eyes on him. The simple act of releasing and catching the Snitch didn't strike her as particularly special, but the way Harry dismissed it...it struck her that it meant something else to him.

For some reason, Harry showing her the act made her feel as though he was opening his arms to whatever she wanted to say...

Seizing the moment, Ginny started to speak. "Harry...what are they saying about me?"

Harry looked frankly surprised. He didn't seem to expect her to ask anything about it.

"Well," Harry began, looking uneasy, "they...they were shocked..."

Ginny stared at him.

Harry sighed. "You know how it is, Ginny. They...well, _some_ of them consider anyone who's been corrupted by Voldemort...you know."

"Evil," finished Ginny.

"No," Harry said suddenly. "Not evil. Just...just...tainted. Like they're different."

Ginny bit her lower lip. _Different._ It never had been a word she had used on herself. She was just like anybody else...until that incident in her first year, when she was, somehow, singled out as the one who should bring Tom Riddle back to life.

Then she asked, "But how do they feel, knowing that it was me who let the basilisk out?"

"It wasn't you," Harry said sharply. He straightened on his seat. "It wasn't your fault. Remember that."

Oh, how she wanted to believe it. The very few people who had known and believed it—her family, Harry, Hermione, Dumbledore—had told her the same thing: _"It was not you; it was You-Know-Who inside you who did it."_ It sounded easy enough to remember.

But whenever she encountered Dementors or had dreams of Tom Riddle, she found it more and more difficult to forget that it had been she whom Tom Riddle had used as his eyes to the outside world; that it had been her mouth, her voice, her hands that he had used to Petrify her schoolmates.

Ginny's smile was painful. "That's exactly what Dumbledore told me," she managed to croak out. "That day in the hospital wing. He said, 'It wasn't your fault. Remember that.'"

"It really wasn't," Harry said. "And you shouldn't care about what others think; you _know_ it wasn't you."

It suddenly struck Ginny that it was the exact same thing she could have told Harry last night, even if he had denied that he had been thinking about his godfather: _It wasn't your fault._

_And all that has happened that you have been blaming yourself for are not your fault, either._

At the end, it was this thought that made her let Harry accompany her back to Gryffindor Tower.

_Much love goes to Alcarcalime and Coffeebean for the talks under acacia trees, late-night chats... and of course, the beta. :)_


	6. Chapter Five

_Author's Notes: These last two chapters took a long while because I only had the free time during my Christmas vacation to write them. I'm not bluffing; I've been a very busy witch these days. Hope you understand._

_Thanks again to the package deal of Alcarcalime and Coffeebean. Kudos also to the other one-fourth of the Unholy Quartet, Galena; our Three Towers and the Hobbit for the inspiration (yeah right); and Headmistress Cherie._

_Below thirteen years old? Why are you reading this?!_

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter Five_

Michael was making his way towards her slowly, deliberately. There was a glint in his eyes she had never seen before, but the way they were narrowed and the way he smiled made a thrill of undisguised excitement course through her entire body.

"I've been watching you all day," he said huskily.

"I know," Ginny whispered, smiling. "You did nothing but remark on the way I flew throughout the match."

Michael grinned; Ginny's stomach did a little cartwheel as he did. "I know. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Ginny remained still on her spot. There was but one torch in this unfamiliar corridor, but the darkness rather made the moment more enticing.... In fact, the shadows cast by the torchlight on Michael's handsome face made him all the more mysterious, alluring, _tempting..._

Ginny took a step backwards and her foot hit a wall. _Good,_ she thought. She licked her lips, not taking her eyes off him. "What about the secret Malfoy let out after the match?"

Something seemed to pass before Michael's eyes—another glint—and his smile widened. He was now right before her, his face only inches away.

"It only made you more...attractive."

Ginny's body sagged against the wall. Michael's statement didn't make any sense. How could the whole Chamber of Secrets incident have made her more attractive to him? But the feel of Michael's breath on her cheek blocked the question from her consciousness. Did it matter?

Michael's hands found her wrists and pinned them to the wall just above her head. "I've been waiting so long to do this again," he breathed.

Ginny half-closed her eyes and tilted her chin up so that her lips brushed his as she spoke. "Me too."

Ginny's hands lolled in surrender against Michael's as he kissed her. Ginny groaned; she had been right in anticipating this moment. He explored unreservedly, his body pressed against hers, his hands not letting go of her wrists. He had never been like this before. He had never kissed her like this. And she could let him go on and on. She didn't want him to stop...

And yes, how good it felt to let go and melt into him.

Michael kissed her harder. _Yes._ Ginny moaned the word into his mouth. Yes. She wouldn't let him stop.

Michael pressed his chest against hers, pushing the air out of her lungs.

Ginny suddenly found herself gasping for breath.

She struggled, against her stronger desire, to turn her lips away from his. "M-Michael," she whispered. "Michael...I-I can't..."

Michael didn't seem to hear. He caught her mouth again and pressed hard, _hard_—

"Michael," Ginny whimpered with more urgency, gasping for air, "Michael, stop, you're hurting—"

_"Are you arguing with me now, Virginia?"_ Michael growled roughly into her mouth. _"What's the matter?"_

"Michael—!"

Michael suddenly released her—but he wasn't Michael anymore. His hair had darkened and lengthened—his jaw had become more prominent—his nose had lengthened—his eyes were now a cold, hard, dark gray—

He was now Tom Riddle.

_No._

"Tom," Ginny gasped. No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

_"What's the matter, Virginia? I thought you had given yourself to me..."_

"No," Ginny gasped, backing away, "I haven't—"

She let out a small cry as she felt the heels of her feet hover over nothingness. She was suddenly standing before a huge gaping hole with her back on it. She knew that hole. She knew it all too well.

She didn't want to go there.

Tom grinned before her. "I'll see you down there, Virginia."

Before Ginny could react, Tom grasped her shoulders and pushed, and Ginny fell, screaming, into the dark abyss that was the Chamber of Secrets—

* * *

"NOOOOOOOO!!!"

Ginny's eyes flew open, her heart racing. She had sat up. She looked wildly around her. Scarlet velvet hangings, purple sheets, white pillows—she was on her bed in her dormitory, not in any dark corridor, and certainly not in the Chamber of Secrets—

Someone suddenly parted the hangings of her four-poster from outside and poked her head in. "Ginny?"

Ginny nearly screamed again until she realized that it was Jane.

"Ginny—you okay?" Jane asked, looking frightened.

Ginny stared at her, still panting. After a while she said, "Y-yes...I just had a nightmare...just a dream..."

Jane's expression of fright made way for one of suspicion. It was then that reality hit Ginny hard.

It was a November Monday. She was in her fifth year. There was no Tom Riddle. There were only her schoolmates believing that he still resided within her—and that she could still release the basilisk on them.

Ginny glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was a few minutes after four in the morning. She parted the hangings wider and found Agnes and Cathy staring at her from their beds.

"Go back to bed," Ginny said wearily. "It was nothing."

Trying her best to ignore her friends' dubious looks, Ginny made her way towards the window. It was still dark outside. She took the pitcher on the sill and poured herself water on a tumbler.

_Just a dream,_ she told herself, taking large gulps. _Just a dream._ But just as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, she remembered how Michael's lips had pressed on hers in her dream, and how it turned out that she was kissing Tom Riddle instead.

Ginny swallowed hard. She wouldn't fool herself by saying that she hadn't been attracted to Tom Riddle when she was still eleven years old. He had been understanding, sympathetic...she remembered wishing Tom was a real person, and he'd be tall and have black hair...

Ginny poured herself more water. She could almost feel Agnes's, Cathy's and Jane's eyes boring onto her back. It was like first year all over again—Tom Riddle, strange dreams, the three of them throwing her suspicious looks whenever she returned to their dormitory looking out-of-ways, like when she had chicken feathers all over her robes.

First year never really left her.

Still shuddering slightly, Ginny climbed back to her bed and pulled the hangings around her shut. Once plunged into darkness, she found that she could barely close her eyes for fear of seeing a pair of dark gray ones closing on her.

* * *

_"Silencio!"_

The crow in front of Ginny immediately stopped its squawking.

"Very good, Miss Weasley!" said Professor Flitwick, clapping his little hands and beaming at her. "Five points for Gryffindor!"

Ginny tried smiling back, but the look on her classmates' faces stopped her. They were either looking away from her or watching her warily, as though she could do other spells much, much worse than the Silencing Charm.

Colin Creevey sat beside her, waving his wand at his crow and muttering the spell. He was swishing the wand in the wrong way.

Ginny couldn't stop herself. "Would you like help with that?"

Colin looked up at her, jumping a little. "Oh...n-no thanks, Ginny," he stuttered, taking a few steps away from her, "I-I can do this."

Ginny stared at him, and then mentally slapped herself. Of all the people in this class, Colin was probably the one most terrified of her.

_His arm was broken and then Lockhart removed all the bones in his arm, Tom, but Colin was still taking his pictures, _she had written in a childish script. _Colin shouldn't have done that, Harry was embarrassed enough already—_

_Who is this Colin again, Virginia?_ The diary had written back.

_Colin Creevey? He's my classmate. He carries this camera with him all the time. He tells me his mum works in this Muggle shop where they get their pictures taken—_

_His parents are Muggles?_

_Yes, and he says he's really glad he's in Hogwarts, this is much better than Muggle school...._

"Er, right, I better get back to this," Colin presently mumbled, turning back to his crow.

Ginny shook herself. "Oh...right. Um, if you need any help..."

Ginny knew fully well, however, that Colin wouldn't be asking for it anytime soon. And why would he? _She_ had almost killed him in their first year. All this time, Colin and everyone else had believed that it had only been a ghost of Voldemort that had almost killed him, and that Ginny was another random victim but one who was taken down the Chamber of Secrets. They never realized why _she_ was taken _down there_...

The bell finally rang. The students scrambled to put their animals away while Professor Flitwick squeaked instructions from the front of the classroom. Ginny slowly put her now quiet crow back to its cage, placed it in front, and looked around for Jane, Agnes and Cathy.

Her three friends were already gone.

Sighing, Ginny gathered her things and got out of the room.

Several students skirted her and hissed among themselves as Ginny made her way through the corridors. Pretending not to be bothered, she looked straight ahead, not really looking at anyone in particular. She vaguely considered not going to lunch anymore—until she saw someone waving frantically at her at the entrance hall.

"Ginny!" It was Hermione, with Ron and Harry by her side.

Ginny let out a relieved smile, the first time one since Saturday, as she almost ran towards the three of them.

"Are you eating with anyone?" asked Hermione.

"No, not really."

"Oh, that's _good_!" Hermione breathed, seemingly oblivious to how tactless those words sounded. "You can have lunch with us."

Ginny was only too relieved to have friendly company for lunch. "That will be great," she said, smiling.

She followed the three to the Great Hall. Heads turned and whispers broke out as they passed, but the other three didn't seem to notice, or they were doing a pretty good job of looking unaffected. They took their place at the end of the Gryffindor table, the one near the professors' table. Ginny had noticed that they took more or less the same places since her first year. She slid beside Hermione, facing Ron and Harry, the Ravenclaw table behind them.

Ginny couldn't help but search for Michael Corner, and when she did see the back of his head, she looked away, shuddering.

"Saw the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?"

Ginny glanced at Hermione. "No...what's it about?"

Hermione loaded her plate with vegetables. "Well, apparently Cornelius Fudge says they're getting a pretty good idea of what the Death Eaters are up to."

Ginny had to smile at the sarcasm in Hermione's voice. "And they're taking necessary precautions, aren't they?"

Harry chuckled darkly. "He's not getting anywhere near them."

Ginny stole a glance at Harry. He looked intent on eating his lamb chops.

"No, but the Order is," Ron said with the faith of a kindergartener on his teacher.

"Sure they are," Hermione said absentmindedly. "Anyway, it's rather strange to read about Fudge talking about V-Voldemort"—Ginny stiffened, but not obvious enough for anyone to notice—"so openly, though it's quite a relief, too."

Ginny had the impression that Hermione was making small talk, but she was somewhat glad that Hermione had chosen to talk to her about it. It was something the four of them had shared not too long ago, after all.

"My father doesn't think Fudge is near to finding You-Know-Who's whereabouts, either."

The four of them jumped on their seats at the new dreamy voice. Ron and Harry whirled around on their bench to find Luna Lovegood standing behind them.

"You see, his heliopaths are not very good in following directions. When they get near a marker, they'd burn everything around it, so they'd lose track of whatever they're looking for."

Ron, Ginny, and Harry looked at each other.

"Yes...of course," Hermione said. Ginny saw that her patience was nearly giving out. "But the thing is—"

"I just came to tell you that I don't care if you got possessed by You-Know-Who in our first year," Luna interrupted, looking straight at Ginny with her large eyes. "You're the same person."

If Luna had not appeared so suddenly or talked about Fudge's heliopaths, Ginny could have cried with gratitude. "Why...thanks, Luna."

Luna gave her another one of her slow, dreamy smiles. "Well, I'll see you around. 'Bye, Ronald."

Ron just stared blankly at her. Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny saw this simultaneously; her eyes caught Harry's for a second before she lowered them to her plate, biting back a grin.

"Well, you've got to admit she's got her heart in the right place," Harry said with an uncharacteristically teasing smile.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron snapped.

"No, he's right," Ginny said, not bothering to hide her grin anymore. "She just made our day, huh?"

The four of them looked back at Luna as she returned to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny, however, found her eyes straying towards the boy two seats beside Luna, the one whose arm was draped around the waist of a dark-haired girl.

Ginny blinked and returned to her food.

"So, er," Hermione began, as though attempting to change the topic of their conversation, "when's your next match?"

"February," said Ron between mouthfuls. "Against Ravenclaw."

_Ravenclaw._ Again, Ginny's eyes wandered towards their table, until she caught herself and placed them firmly on her plate.

"Well, you'd been in good shape by then, wouldn't you, Ginny?"

"What? Oh." Right then, Quidditch was the furthest thing on Ginny's mind. "Yeah. I hope so."

Ron was not looking at her direction. Harry, on the other hand, was looking at her intently—to which Ginny was completely oblivious.

They discussed Quidditch as they finished their lunch. Time flew, and it was not until the Great Hall began to empty did Ginny begin to dread her upcoming class—double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs—and the looks she was going to get from her classmates.

But just when they were leaving the Great Hall, Harry slowed down to walk beside her.

"Hey," he began, "did Madam Pomfrey tell you you'd need more flying practice after...after that Bludger incident?"

Ginny blinked and looked at Harry in surprise. "Actually...yes," she said. "But how did you know?"

Harry shrugged. "That's the first thing you'd think would cure you, isn't it?"

"Maybe," said Ginny slowly. She was wondering why Harry was asking her.

Harry nodded. "So...why don't you?"

"Why don't I...what?"

"Practice, of course," said Harry, vaguely motioning to the direction where the Quidditch pitch was. "You can always go to the Quidditch pitch when no one's practicing."

"Oh, Madam Pomfrey won't let me." Ginny rolled her eyes. "She told me not to fly till I get tired of Quidditch completely."

Harry looked at her disbelievingly. "She said that?"

Ginny nodded. Then, smiling, she added, "I won't do it, though."

Harry suddenly grinned. It was so sudden; Ginny was almost taken aback by it.

"I'm going tonight. Want to come?"

This statement shocked her even more that she stopped on her tracks. She didn't understand why, however; if it was the fact that he asked her or that he wanted someone to come with him that surprised her was still out of her comprehension.

"Why not?" Ginny managed to say after a while. "I could use a bit of air."

"Okay. Good," said Harry, grinning again. "So I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Ginny said. Her calm voice surprised even herself. "Later."

Harry gave her a thumbs-up and ran after Ron and Hermione to the direction of the dungeons.

Ginny, meanwhile, turned left towards the doors of the castle. She smiled to herself as she went out into the November sunlight. For reasons that still escaped her, Herbology suddenly didn't seam so dreadful anymore.


	7. Chapter Six

**I Wished For You Once**

_Chapter Six_

Ginny suddenly remembered that she had left the curtains of her four-poster bed hanging open when she saw the pile of freshly-laundered robes, ready for use for the week ahead, neatly folded on it.

Her robes had been Percy's; her mother just had them cut to fit her small frame. Nevertheless, they were inevitably showing indications of age. The cloth, which had been black some years ago, was now becoming gray. Even the embroidered Gryffindor crest on the left side of the chest had lost its bright red and gold hues. Ginny slid a hand on the topmost robe; she felt lint bump her fingers. 

She found her scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch robe under her black school ones. Smiling slightly, she held it up to the afternoon sunlight streaming through her dormitory window. This robe was relatively new. The colors of the Gryffindor crest were still striking, and the fabric was smooth to touch.

Ginny looked out of her window. The Quidditch pitch was in full view from their dormitory. She could remember countless nights watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice from where she stood, hungrily wishing that she could join them. They looked like moving red dots from where she stood. Even so, she had studied the maneuvers and techniques of each player, and although she found the Chasers' task most interesting, her young eyes had wandered too much on the dot flying the highest.

_ The Gryffindor Seeker._ Ginny let a chuckle escape her throat. Then, realizing that she was alone in her dormitory that Sunday afternoon, she stopped and contented herself by smiling happily.

She might have spent a hellish week after the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match if it were not for those evenings with Harry. Incredibly, her flying had improved. It was actually Harry who told her what to do.

_"I think you're pressuring yourself too much."_

Ginny, sitting beside him on the grass, had squinted up at him. _"Huh?"_

_ "Well,"_ Harry said, stretching his legs in front of him, _"you're always thinking of falling or something when you're up there. Maybe you should…get the feel of flying. I mean really enjoy it, like it's always been a good thing."_

Ginny cocked her head. Here was another first. How was he able to read her mind?

_ "You remember what I taught in D.A., when we were doing Patronuses?"_ When Ginny did not reply, Harry went on, _"It was Professor Lupin who told me to focus on the happiest thought I could muster. I…I guess it would work in this case, too."_

Ginny stared at him. _"Think of the happiest thoughts while flying?"_

Harry began to grin. _"I know it sounds like Peter Pan, but yeah. Forget about feeling afraid you'd fall, more than anything."_

_ "Who's Peter Pan?"_

_ "He's this kid who can fly on his own. He never grows up because he lives in Neverland, where nobody grows up. It's a Muggle fairy tale,"_ Verdana"> he added hurriedly upon seeing Ginny's you've-gone-nuts stare. 

_ "Oh. Peter Pan."_ Smiling, Ginny had looked away.

Ginny allowed herself another chuckle. After telling her about Peter Pan, Harry had urged her to give it another try. When she was in the air and slowly accelerating again, her thoughts wandered to the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match of the previous year, when she had literally caught the Snitch under Cho Chang's nose. The Gryffindors had gone wild, they had raised Ron on their shoulders…and suddenly, she was flying—_really_ flying again—and there was no more headache, and Harry's grin towards her seemed to be the extension of her own.

"Gin?"

Ginny straightened up and whipped around. Jane Rochford was standing in the doorway, peering at her as if she was something funnily strange that had flown into the room.

"Hey," Ginny said, hastily gathering her school robes. After a week of giving her the cold shoulder, one of her roommates had finally decided to talk to her again—just when she was staring off into space, probably grinning to herself.

Jane watched her for a moment before speaking again. "You got a minute?"

"Sure." Ginny forced a smile, which she quickly hid by turning her back on Jane and going off to her closet.

Ginny heard Jane close the door and cross the room. She hung her robes in the closet, pretending to carefully straighten each one. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she was forced to face Jane, who had plopped down on her own bed.

"Well, speak up," Ginny said.

Jane looked at her so uneasily that Ginny almost smiled. It was so unlike Jane; Jane, who talked too loudly or cursed too much and yet felt no need to apologize to those who try to shush her.

"Well, it's…well, I guess you know what it is."

Ginny pretended to look as if she did not understand.

Jane's shoulders slumped. "Look. I'm sorry, Ginny."

Ginny set her face and kept her eyes on Jane.

"I guess I should have been more of a _friend_ that I'm supposed to be to you, especially _now_ when you need us _most_ since everyone seems to be _ scared_ of you," Jane blabbed on, gesturing wildly. "I _know_ we were unfair and…and we should have understood. Me particularly, I guess. I mean, we knew that you were…abducted way back in first year and…." Her voice trailed off. She seemed to have realized that she had talked too much.

Ginny fixed Jane a cold stare that made Jane seem to shrink before her very eyes. Did Jane actually think she would be forgiven so easily?

Ginny advanced a couple of steps towards her old friend. "Who told you you're not supposed to be scared of me?"

Jane blanched. Her eyes widened; she backed a bit on her bed. Ginny saw her bottom lip quiver. And suddenly, she could not help herself anymore. 

She smiled impishly. "Gotcha."

A full two seconds passed before Jane blinked repeatedly at Ginny. Then her jaw dropped in amused outrage. "Oh, _Ginny_!"

Ginny snickered. "You should have seen your face."

"Dammit, Ginny! Did you know you can _act_?"

"You're just too easy, Jane." Ginny laughed aloud, and soon Jane joined her.

"Oh, God," Jane gasped, rubbing her eyes. "At least that's taken care of…the whole thing."

Ginny smiled. "Well, I must admit I was really disappointed in you three."

"We're really sorry, Gin," Jane said sincerely.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Ginny said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She sat down on her own bed. "But everyone was shocked. I mean…I guess I can't blame anyone for not being scared."

Ginny paused. Jane, watching her thoughtfully, looked expectant. She could not yet estimate how much Jane needed to hear. She knew that supplying all the raw information regarding Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets might render even tough Jane Rochford catatonic. _A few vague hints won't hurt her,_ she considered. _Besides, I owe her the truth._

"Malfoy was right," said Ginny grimly. "All you heard from him after the Quidditch match was true. Save for one thing," she added—but her next words came out in hitches, as though she were unsure of herself. "It…wasn't…my fault."

Ginny saw the smallest of frowns crease Jane's forehead.

"Actually," Ginny went on, letting out a nervous laugh, "it was just me being stupid. One thing led to another and then, you know…I ended up down there." Another nervous chuckle. "You-Know-Who doesn't live inside me, though."

Jane jumped slightly from where she sat. "I—I didn't say he did."

"Everybody seems to think so," Ginny said. Her voice sounded strangely high-pitched. 

Jane seemed to study her intently. Now it was Ginny who felt like she was shrinking under her friend's gaze. Unable to stay in one place, Ginny got up, gathered the rest of her clothes on her bed and went back to her closet.

"How's your flying?" Jane suddenly asked.

Ginny looked back at her, surprised—then she realized that she was hanging her Quidditch robes. "Oh…it's getting better actually," she said. "Better than last week, at least. My head sort of gets tired after a while, but I'm working on it." It was then that she noticed that Jane was trying to suppress a smile. "What?"

"Thanks to someone we know?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Thanks to Harry, yeah. And Peter Pan."

"Who?"

"Oh, never mind."

"Hmm, getting cozy enough to share secrets, huh? I see your wishes are slowly coming true."

Ginny whirled around and put her hands on her hips. "Jane, he's just helping me."

"By giving you one-on-one lessons? Oh, the oddity of it."

"What_ever_, Jane." Ginny closed her closet door. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm flying okay again, and I might get a good hand at goal-scoring come the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match next year."

"But it _is_ odd, isn't it?" Jane insisted. "Knowing you, you wouldn't ask him or anyone for help, so that means he _offered_ help, didn't he?" When Ginny didn't answer, she went on with a knowing grin, "I wonder why he did that."

Ginny pursed her lips in thought. After a while, she said aloud, "Maybe because he knows how I feel."

This was clearly not the answer Jane had expected. "Feel…about getting injured? Oh, I'm sure he knows a lot about _that_."

Ginny ignored the sarcasm. "About Quidditch, about playing for the team," she said tolerantly. "He said it himself—something about feeling frustrated when all you can do is watch."

Jane cocked an eyebrow at her. "And…because of _that_ he's helping you?"

Now that Jane spelled it out for her, the notion _did_ sound strange. "Well, he's my teammate, isn't he?" Ginny said, trying to reason out aloud. "Of course he'd want to help me out."

"Oh, _sure_," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows boys help girl teammates out by giving them one-on-one lessons because they _know_ how they _feel_ and not because they want to spend a bit of time with them. Ever heard of ulterior motives, Ginny?"

"Jane, I don't even want to think about it," said Ginny seriously. "Just the fact that he's helping me in my flying is enough."

"And you're okay with that?"

Ginny almost laughed aloud. "Sure I am! I'm over him. And _you_, of all people, are supposed to know that."

"No, I don't."

Again, Ginny ignored her. "Look, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. But…you know what?" 

Ginny smiled as something suddenly occurred to her. It was something she had not intended to say aloud, much less tell Jane or any other person, but something inside her told her that saying it would make it graspable for her. 

"Now that I'm over him and can look at him from an _objective_ point of view, I can finally see him for the person he really is."

Jane looked at her, blinking in surprise. Then, as though catching on, she asked, "And who _is_ the real Harry Potter?"

It was a rhetorical question—not because everyone knew who Harry Potter was, but because describing a person, Harry in particular, needed no words. Or maybe it was that words were not enough.

Ginny gazed at Jane, thinking. 

"He's unpredictable, he's grumpy…he really cares for his friends…he's a great flier…he spaces out all the time…he has this weird habit of playing with the Snitch—"

"You know, Ginny," Jane interrupted, "if I learn that you've somehow fallen head over heels for Harry Potter again—"

"I'm giving you my broomstick," Ginny finished. "And that's a promise!"

Without waiting for an answer, Ginny sealed that promise with a pillow thrown at Jane's delighted face.

Another week later, Ginny wondered at the back of her head if she should start saving for a new broomstick soon. 

She swore she did not plan it; it was, she reasoned, an instantaneous effect of spending too much time with Harry—especially with him flying so much with _her_. 

She would often catch herself with her mouth hanging open as Harry made flawless dives with his Firebolt. But then again, it was not something completely unexpected of her whenever she watched him fly. Nor was it something _others_ wouldn't do. Harry _always_ stole the scene in a Quidditch match.

And yet, Ginny mused, he didn't seem to know it. He was humble. Sometimes too much so.

Oh, Harry was not perfect—not when it came to his character, anyway—but a big head certainly was not one of his flaws. Even if he were above everyone else in the air, soaring the fastest, he always managed to keep his feet back on the ground. Ginny knew that flying for Harry was not merely a talent. It was something he knew he was good at, but it was not something to be proud about. It was, simply put, a part of his life. It came to him as naturally as breathing. And one does not have to flaunt the fact that he breathes.

Ginny had to admit that sometimes she felt what could have been the beginnings of envy towards Harry's flying. In spite of her love for flying, she knew she was never going to match Harry's talent. But seeing him, his eyes mad with nothing but pure desire to be out there on his Firebolt, obliterated all these thoughts. 

She could only admire him.

And that, Ginny concluded mentally, was the simple root of it all.

Ginny's chin was propped on her palm and her elbow on the Gryffindor common room study table as these thoughts flew past her head. All evening she had tried to stop her eyes from drifting off to the armchairs in front of the fire, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were engaged in light conversation.

Finally, Ginny gave in. Quill in her free hand, she stared at Harry, pretending to be contemplating on her homework.

Jane, however, did not let this pass so easily. "Didn't know you were left-handed, Gin."

Ginny glanced at her quill, then at Jane, and sighed heavily.

For the past few days, Ginny had seen a slight improvement in the way her classmates treated her. Colin now smiled in gratitude whenever she handed him something in Charms; Cathy and Agnes were friendly towards her again and had even waited for her after their last Care of Magical Creatures class. She had vaguely wondered if Jane had something to do with it. In any case, she was grateful.

Ginny had just started twiddling her quill in her _right_ hand when she saw a tawny owl carrying perhaps three or four letters pecking at the round window. A first year opened it to let the owl in. As everybody watched, the owl flew towards Ron.

"Hey, it's from Mum!" exclaimed Ron as if he needed everyone to hear. He looked up at Ginny. "She's got a letter for you as well—and for you too, Harry."

Harry looked surprised as he reached for his letter. 

Ginny set her quill down and, composing herself, approached the trio. Harry glanced up from his letter and gave her a quick smile, but just as soon as it appeared, it was buried again as Harry continued reading his letter.

"Here," Ron said, handing her her letter.

Ginny began reading as she went back to the study table.

_ Ginny dear,_

_I hope you're well and haven't got the colds. I just wanted you to know that I'm expecting you, Ron, and if he would, Harry, to come home for Christmas._

Ginny frowned as she sat down. It was only a few days before December. Why was her mother worrying more than usual?

_I had to let you know as soon as possible because things are not too well in you-know-what and Dad and I worry about you two more often. Owl back quickly._

_ Much love, _

_ Mum_

Ginny's frown deepened. She reread the letter.

_ Dad and I worry about you two more often._

She stole a glance at Harry's direction again. He looked delighted at the prospect of spending Christmas with the Weasleys. Ron seemed to share his excitement, too. Hermione simply looked at the two of them with an amused smile. Obviously Ginny was the only one who was sent a troubled letter.

Ginny looked at the owl perched on Ron's armchair. It was probably an owl of one of the members of the Order; Errol had sadly retired from long journeys the previous summer. She imagined her mother writing from 12 Grimmauld Place. What did she find out there?

Ginny took a spare piece of parchment and began writing.

_ Mum,_

_ I'm definitely coming home for Christmas. Won't you tell me what's wrong?_

_ Ginny_

"Ginny?"

Ginny almost jumped out of her seat. It was Harry, hunched over her, his hair sticking up in all places.

She stared at him for she did not know how long until she shook herself and straightened up. "Yes, Harry?" she said a little too brightly.

"I'm sending Hedwig to your mum," he said, holding his reply letter up. "Want me to send yours?"

"Er—uh…" Ginny looked behind him to find Ron and Hermione scowling at four third-year boys in the corner. Hermione was holding matchbox-sized packs not unlike the ones Fred and George had used to pack one of their trick candies. Hermione looked irate; Ron was talking to them in what sounded like an authoritative tone.

"Looks like Ron's going to use that owl," said Harry.

_ Why don't we wait for Ron's letter and use that owl too?_ Ginny wanted to ask, but thought the better of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jane glance back and forth at them with her eyebrows raised.

Ginny almost gave Harry her parchment, but stopped quickly. Not that she thought Harry nosy, but she could not risk him reading her letter. There still were vestiges of excitement left in that smile of his, and his green eyes still had a glimmer that had nothing to do with the lighting in the room, and if he read her letter…all of that would be gone, and she would see a brooding, withdrawn Harry once again.

"I'm coming with you," Ginny said abruptly, standing up. She looked at Jane. "Um, see you later, Jane."

Jane gave her a clever sideways look, then shrugged. "Later."

Ginny and Harry slipped out of the common room quietly. Harry even let Ginny walk ahead of him. 

There was silence—not an uncomfortable one, however—as the two of them walked down Gryffindor tower. Each of them seemed deep in thought. Ginny could not see Harry's face to know for sure how he had taken her accompanying him. Was he suspicious?

"Don't you think it's a bit early for your mum to invite me to the Burrow for Christmas?"

Ginny suddenly had to grip the handrail; she had taken a step too quickly. She turned to him. "Uh…yeah, I was wondering too."

"What do you think?"

Ginny shrugged and attempted to act as if it was something not worth worrying about. "Maybe she's excited _you'd_ be coming," she said, forcing a grin. "You know Mum."

"Oh." Harry smiled sheepishly. "Er…right."

The sun was just setting when they arrived in the Owlery. Ginny could see the red-orange ball of fire halfway into its descent into the mountains in the horizon. As Harry pushed open the heavy door, Ginny was suddenly hit by the strong scent of owl droppings. 

"Ah, smell that aroma," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Makes good desert, huh?"

Ginny snorted. "You're disgusting."

A large snowy owl had dismounted one of the topmost perches and descended towards them. Even before Harry could call her, Hedwig had flown towards him and mussed his hair by cuffing his head with a broad wing.

_ "Hedwig!"_ Harry chided his owl. Hedwig, unheeding, flapped her wings hard so that bits of hay flew around them.

Ginny laughed. "Looks like she's excited to fly again."

"As always." Hedwig had now alighted on Harry's arm. "Come on, Hedwig. You're sending a couple of letters to Mrs. Weasley, all right?"

Hedwig looked at him in rapt attention all of a sudden; she was now perched on Harry's arm in a dignified, almost stately manner—a kind of assurance that she could bring a letter to whomever Harry pleased. Ginny knew that Hedwig had herself hurt while trying to send a letter back to Harry just last year; apparently someone, Umbridge perhaps, had tried to search the trustworthy owl.

Harry had brought Hedwig to the balcony facing west. He set her down on the marble railing. Hedwig promptly extended a large claw, keeping her amber eyes on Harry. 

"Here," Ginny said, handing Harry her small rolled-up parchment. Without any questions, Harry tied it with his own letter to Hedwig's foot.

Harry patted Hedwig's head and extended his free arm. Hedwig hopped on it, hooted softly and nipped his index finger. Ginny found herself smiling at the affectionate gesture.

"Be safe," Harry said in an audible whisper. Then he stretched his arm over the railing, and Hedwig took off, flying towards south.

"Quite an owl you have," Ginny said, stepping on Harry's side.

"Uh-huh." Harry rested his arms on the railing, keeping his eyes on Hedwig until she was a small speck in the dusk. "Mrs. Weasley should get our letters in a short while."

"Mm-hmm." Ginny leaned her elbows on the railing and her chin on her hands. Her eyes fell on the sun. "Hey, look at that."

Harry followed her gaze. The sun was now a dim figment of the golden glory that it is in the day. As they watched, it became a small reddish mound in the horizon, slowly hiding from view behind the mountains, slowly plunging the world into darkness.

Ginny became aware that silence had befallen them again. She started to glance at Harry, but suddenly, she was unable to take her eyes off him. His hair was sticking up on the back of his head where Hedwig had cuffed him; the slow breeze went through it as if it were grass. The eyes behind his glasses, she saw, were not exactly the bright green they always were. The light had somehow shone on it to give it a golden green tinge.

Ginny's breath caught as she saw how ethereal they appeared. But what eventually made her heart feel as if it were pinched ever so lightly and wonderfully by some welcome force was the small smile playing on his lips. It was set in his equally tranquil face, and it was so perfect that it sent Ginny's worries into oblivion. _If only everything in our world today could be like that face,_ Ginny thought vaguely.

_If only Harry could be like that always._

Harry did not seem to notice her gazing at him. Which was just as well—Ginny did not want to push through whatever peaceful thought there was in Harry's consciousness. 

She took a deep breath silently so that he would not hear. And then, she leaned ever so slightly towards him such that her shoulder brushed with his.

They stayed that way, not speaking, even long after the sun had disappeared.

_**Author's Notes:** Thanks, Mea (Coffeebean) and Jess (Alcarcalime), for the beta, and for Biggerstaffbunch and OzShadow for getting me to write again. Meann…Peter Pan? Oh, the cleverness of me…_


	8. Chapter Seven

_Hello guys! Sorry this one took quite a while. It's been in the works for months and had undergone a couple of major revisions. But here it is! Enjoy. Hopefully the next chapter won't take that long anymore. :) Many thanks to **Alcarcalime** for the beta!_

**I Wished For You Once**   
_Chapter Seven_

Ginny barely noticed that winter had arrived until a fortnight later, for on top of the schoolwork that she had amassed over the last three months—professors were intent on keeping the fifth-years busy for their O.W.L.s—Katie Bell had scheduled Quidditch practices the week before the Christmas vacation. Ginny thus made up her mind to prove to her teammates that she was still worthy of her position in their team. She trained harder, spending hour after hour in the Quidditch pitch four times a week during the fortnight that preceded the vacation.

Despite all these, what preoccupied Ginny the most was the letter she had been expecting from her mother. Mrs. Weasley didn't reply to hers in those two weeks. The first thought that always came to Ginny's distracted mind was that her parents were in trouble—but logic stated that they couldn't be, or else Dumbledore would have called her and Ron's attention. Perhaps it just wasn't safe to send letters yet. That was what her mum had told her and Ron before they went to Hogwarts last September: when there were no letters, it just wasn't safe yet.

_Why, though? What are they up to now?_ Ginny asked herself, as she had countless times since she learned that the Order of the Phoenix was recalled more than a year ago. Never had she found out the answer. All she knew was that they were fighting You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters.

Ginny looked up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall on the Saturday morning when the Gryffindor team would start Quidditch practice again. Owls were beginning to swoop down to those whom they were delivering letters and packages. Indifferently, she saw a barn owl fly towards Hermione, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ tied on its leg; Hermione untied it and gave it a Knut.

Hermione let out a gasp. "Oh my—Harry, look at this!"

Harry looked up from his breakfast and squinted at the news. He suddenly stood up and leaned closer. Ron did the same.

Ginny stood up and joined them. She took one look at the headline and the picture beneath it, and exclaimed, "They _are_?"

"What is it?" Neville asked.

"'Three Death Eaters sent back to Azkaban'," Ginny read aloud, hearing her heart beat a little faster. "'Algernon Rookwood, Walden Macnair and Frederick Jugson, Death Eaters who participated in the mass Death Eater breakout last August, were apprehended early today by Ministry Aurors.'"

The other students started receiving their own copies of the _Prophet_ and were chattering excitedly about this new development. Ginny went on reading Hermione's copy silently, pausing every now and then on statements that jumped out to her.

_The three were caught during a raid of an Unplottable area camouflaged as an abandoned Muggle wear-house in Wales..._

_Rookwood, Macnair and Jugson are sentenced to life imprisonment in the maximum security prison within Azkaban..._

_Without the Dementors guarding the fortress, escape seems more likely..._

_The Ministry is still on the lookout for the other Death Eaters who had escaped Azkaban..._

The Ministry, Ginny repeated herself. She would bet a thousand Galleons that the Order had helped the Ministry in the capture, if not doing it themselves.

Ginny stared at the picture of the three Death Eaters being led, not too easily, out of something that looked like a dark courtroom. With a shudder, she realized that she had seen those faces before in person. These Death Eaters had been there with the six of them, chasing after them...shooting curses at them while she and the rest ran. Then she broke an ankle…it had been there in the Department of Mysteries not too long ago. It had been just last June....

"Well, this is good news, isn't it?" Neville finally said quietly, propping his _Prophet_ on his goblet.

"Strange, though," Hermione said, looking a bit stunned. "I didn't think Fudge was serious when he said that they had an idea about what the Death Eaters were up to."

"You mean you have no idea who really was behind the arrest?" Ginny asked Hermione.

Hermione looked at Ginny and nodded in comprehension. "Now that you mention it..."

"What's a wear-house?" asked Ron.

"A big building where Muggles store stuff," Harry muttered, sounding oddly detached.

Ginny looked at him out of the corner of her eye and wondered how Harry would take it. It was good news, yes; but what if he remembered what it had been like being down there, as she just had? How would it affect him?

Harry was still staring at the _Prophet_ in a frown when an owl dropped a letter on Ginny's plate. Ginny's stomach did a cartwheel. It was from her mum.

She tore the envelope open and read.

_Ginny,_

_Everything's ready for Christmas. Harry's coming with you, isn't he? Ask Hermione if she also wants to stay here a few days before she goes on vacation with her family. Give my love to Ron. I miss you both._

_Mum_

Simple as that, as if nothing had happened. Ginny knew otherwise, of course. She received a letter because everything was safe again.

_Well, at least she sounds fine,_ Ginny thought. But before she could feel liberated from worry, Katie Bell stood up.

"Quidditch practice," Katie announced at the Gryffindor table. Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper stood up, both cramming a piece of toast into their mouths. Natalie McDonald followed them out of the Great Hall.

"Well, come on," said Ron.

Ginny's stomach redoubled its efforts in churning its contents. She suddenly forgot about the letter and the news. Jane's reassuring pat on the back didn't help at all.

_I can't mess up today,_ Ginny thought. _I can almost be as good as I'd been before Malfoy hexed that Bludger at me. _

Ginny, Ron and Harry made their way to Gryffindor Tower to get their gear, and then headed to the Quidditch pitch. Despite the snow brought in by the blizzard the week before, the day was sunny, and Ginny had to squint against the sunlight.

"You all right, Gin?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Ginny said immediately.

Harry gave her a pat on the arm with the end of his Firebolt. "I think you'll do fine."

Ginny tried to smile, but found that she couldn't even pretend to. "I have this strange feeling that something horribly wrong will happen today."

It later turned out that Ginny had the right to feel uneasy. As they neared the Quidditch pitch, they heard voices raised in anger. Ginny, Harry and Ron looked at each other, then ambled briskly towards the pitch.

Ginny instantly saw that something was wrong. Katie was there on one end of the pitch, talking to Natalie, who sounded angry. Jack and Andrew stood behind Natalie, and beside them, looking warily out of place, was someone Ginny never saw in the Quidditch pitch, except during the first Quidditch tryouts last September.

Charles Weston.

Ginny's heart sank.

"Hey!" Ron yelled, running towards the small group. Ginny ran beside him. "What's going on?"

Katie wheeled around. Upon seeing Ginny, her expression changed.

Ginny looked at her, then at Charles Weston, who suddenly looked down on his feet. She hardly dared believe it. Katie couldn't do that. She just couldn't.

"Ginny," Katie said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Look...I'm sorry I had to do this, but this is for your own good."

Something painful blocked Ginny's throat. "No," she croaked. "Katie—you can't do this—why didn't you even warn me?"

"I made the decision last night," Katie told her. "Madam Pomfrey told me it would take you a few more weeks to recover, and the match against Ravenclaw will be on early February—"

"And I'll be perfectly fine by then!" Ginny couldn't help herself this time. "Katie, you can't take me out of the team!"

"You're _what_?" hollered Ron, dropping his broomstick.

"You're _what_?" gasped Harry at the same time, putting himself beside Ginny and right in front of Katie. "You're not letting her play anymore?"

Katie took a deep breath while keeping an authoritative eye on Harry. "Yes, I am."

The ache in Ginny's throat became a stinging in her eyes.

_I'm out of the team. I'm out of the team,_ a voice in her head repeated over and over again. _I'm not playing Quidditch anymore._ Something told her that she should assert herself, as she always had, but her voice failed her at that very moment.

"What _is_ this?" Harry demanded. "You're changing players and you didn't even _tell_ us beforehand?"

Katie held up her hands. "Now, Harry—"

"Isn't this a team or _not_?" Harry retorted, taking a step closer at his captain.

"This _is_ a team!" Katie shot back angrily. "And as your captain, _I'm_ the one responsible if _any_ of you get hurt. I had to do this for the good of this team!"

Harry's voice rose with every exclamation. "She's been improving! She's been practicing hard all these weeks just to stay on the team and help us win!"

Despite herself, Ginny found herself grabbing Harry's arm. "Harry—"

Harry faced her. Ginny involuntarily took a step back as, even for a second, she forgot about her own misery. Harry's eyebrows were drawn, and his mouth was curled into the worst grimace that she had seen on him in a while.

The tears were dangerously close now. She felt torn—she couldn't stand being thrown out of the team, but she couldn't let Harry make the team suffer for it.

"Harry, it's okay," she managed to choke out. "Don't do this—it's just about me—"

_"Just about you?"_ Harry yelled furiously. "Everything you love is being taken away from you! And that's _fine_ with you?"

And with that, a tear slipped onto her cheeks. She pressed a hand on it and forced herself to calm down, at least until she was alone.

"It's not _everything_, Harry," she whispered painfully.

Harry stared at her, and as he did, she almost saw the anger dissipate from his face. Ginny felt her heart ache as she noticed the change, and suddenly realized something. _Of course._ Harry understood all about getting kicked out of the team. He understood all about having everything he loved being taken away from him....

Harry took a few deep breaths, his anger seemingly subsiding, and turned back to the rest of the team.

"How about a vote?" he asked them. "Those who are in favor of Ginny staying, raise your hand."

Harry raised his. So did Ron, whose face was set.

Harry stared at Jack and Andrew. The two Beaters looked at each other—but did nothing.

Harry stared at Natalie. If she had sounded angry when they arrived, she looked defeated now.

"I—I'm sorry...but maybe Katie's right," she said quietly, glancing at Ginny with an extremely unhappy expression on her face. "She's just worried about you."

Harry lowered his hand and slumped his shoulders in defeat.

Ginny looked at Harry, and another tear escaped from her eyes. She wasn't even crying because of Quidditch now. How could anyone be affected because of her, the way Harry was right now? How could Harry even_ care_ so much, and in many ways?

After a long, excruciatingly quiet moment, Harry raised both palms up. "Fine," he said to the team, beaten. "You win."

With that—without even looking at Ginny—he picked his Firebolt off the ground and walked towards the changing rooms.

Everyone's eyes followed him. Ginny thought of walking away unnoticed—but Ron was too quick for her. Standing beside her, he hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder.

"Ginny, don't cry," he said quietly, awkwardly.

Ginny shook her head and bit her lip hard. _Don't cry, _she heard Ron's words repeated in her head. It wouldn't do to cry again. Not without Harry anyway. She almost laughed at the irony of it, of all that had happened since that Quidditch practice last November. Back then, Harry, in all his sulkiness, reproached her for being late for practice. _Now_ she wanted him back. She wanted to cry _on_ him….

Ginny heaved a sigh. "Okay," she said in a shaky whisper. "I'll go. I...I'm sorry I can't do what you all expected of me."

"Ginny—" Ron started, tightening his grip on her shoulder.

"I really tried, though," Ginny interrupted him.

The tears were coming again, and before she could let them overpower her, she gently nudged Ron's hand away, grabbed her Cleansweep, and half-ran back to the castle.

Ginny found Harry that midnight sitting alone on an armchair in the Gryffindor common room. Or rather, she saw the top of his head behind the back of the armchair. His back was on her; he was facing the dying embers in the fireplace.

_But it's him all right,_ Ginny thought. No one could mistake the black hair.

There on the bottom of the stairs, having come from her dormitory, Ginny heaved a huge sigh. How could she let Harry know how much she appreciated him right then? How could she tell him that whatever his reasons were for being so caring towards her, she was already grateful just for having him?

She started thinking about going back to her room, but remembered that she couldn't sleep. She had been thinking about Quidditch. She had been reliving the feeling of playing Quidditch in her head, knowing that she wouldn't be playing it again for a long time. She had come down because...she needed someone to talk to.

She wanted to find Harry.

And he was there.

Ginny took a deep breath. "Harry?"

Ginny saw Harry's head jerk. She waited.

Harry didn't turn around.

Ginny wrung her hands in front of her. She hesitated, then, "Harry—about Quidditch."

Ginny waited again. Harry still didn't act like he was going to face her.

_All the better, though,_ Ginny thought. She didn't think she'd be able to say what she wanted to if she had been facing him.

"Harry—I just...wanted to...thank you for all your help. We—we know I steadily improved and I can fly in a straight line from one end of the pitch to another again—"

Ginny suddenly stopped. She had started to ramble—_why_ couldn't she get rid of that habit?

But still, Harry didn't seem to move.

Ginny took another deep breath. "I—I'm sorry that helping me wasn't any help to the team...but I just wanted you know that I'm really grateful for it...even if it's just for me alone. Don't...think that all your efforts in helping me went to waste... 'cause they didn't. If it isn't important to the team, it _is_ to me."

Ginny thought Harry had lowered his head.

Then she said the words that she really longed to say as early as that morning in the Quidditch pitch.

"I couldn't have done it alone, Harry. 't have done it without you."

Harry didn't move. Ginny bit her lip, clutching the handrail so hard that her knuckles went pale. She only told him the truth. Would that push him away?

But before she could utter another word, another voice—a deep, resounding, _familiar_ voice—spoke.

_"I see. His heroics work, after all…don't they, Ginevra?"_

Ginny's eyebrows snapped together as her eyes widened.

_"Couldn't have done it without Harry Potter, Ginevra? I think so, too. But you're on your own now, and he can't help you…"_

_No. No way. Not again! Not tonight—!_

The person on the armchair stood up, and Ginny saw that the one whom she had thought was Harry was actually taller than him. This person was more broad-shouldered and had wavy hair. He would have looked handsome…but Ginny _knew_…

He faced her.

"DAMMIT, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Ginny cried as Tom Riddle advanced towards her. "LEAVE ME ALONE! _LEAVE ME ALONE, TOM!_"

_"I won't, my dear,"_ Tom Riddle said in a mocking undertone that sent a harsh shudder through Ginny. _"You had given yourself to me…remember?"_

_"NOOOOO!"_ Ginny screamed, trying to step back—but instead of the stair step upwards, her foot hit open air.

_NO! NOT AGAIN!_

All the air went out of Ginny's lungs in a _whoosh_ as she fell. Down, down, she fell, blackness shrouding her…

…In another place and time, from a strangely separate part of her, she felt a sharp stinging on her face. She groped about as she fell, knowing that wherever that place was, even if it hurt, it had to be better than this.

And when she reached it, she elicited a loud gasp from deep in her chest and sat up on her bed, her nightclothes drenched in sweat.


	9. Chapter Eight

_Many thanks for patiently waiting for this chapter. :-) My thanks also go out to Alcarcalime and ReaderRavenclaw for all the help!_

**I Wished For You Once** __

Chapter Eight

"Butterbeer?"

"No, thanks," Ginny said quietly, forcing a grateful smile.

Beside her, in a Hogwarts Express compartment bound for London, Neville gave her a small smile, one that told Ginny that it was all right, he understood. He uncorked his own bottle with his teeth, spat the cork onto his hand, and drank deeply.

"Can I have that?"

Luna, who had been sitting across from Neville, had her arm extended towards him. Her palm was open, and her already big eyes seemed to bulge even more as she stared at Neville expectantly. Neville looked at her questioningly, then reluctantly handed her his bottle.

Luna giggled. "The cork!" she said.

"Oh!" Neville said, laughing slightly. Ginny noticed that Neville discreetly wiped the cork on his trousers before tossing it to Luna, who caught it almost indifferently.

Ginny watched Luna open the pocket of her knapsack and take out more Butterbeer corks, which were strung together onto a gold thread to make a necklace. Luna took Neville's cork and threaded it onto the necklace as well. Then she held it up, frowning.

"I need four more," she said in a mystified tone.

An amused chuckle escaped Harry, who was sitting beside Luna and directly across from Ginny. As Ginny glanced at him, Harry caught her eyes.

Ginny quickly averted her gaze and stared at the passing landscape without really noticing its quiet glory, as she had been doing for a couple of hours now. She kept her eyes outside even as she heard Neville speak again.

"You can always buy some in Hogsmeade when we go back to Hogwarts in January."

There was a pause. Then Luna said, "I think I'll go find the lunch trolley right now."

"The trolley doesn't sell Butterbeer," Neville said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Maybe they do now," Luna said airily.

Ginny heard the door to their compartment slide open, and she looked up again. Luna had stepped out, but as though on second thought, she turned back to Neville. "Don't you want to come out with me?"

Neville stared at her—then, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief, stood up. "Okay," he said hoarsely.

Neville slid the door closed behind him. Ginny now couldn't help but steal a glance at Harry, who had a leg propped up on his seat and an arm hung limply on his knee. He was staring at her.

Ginny looked outside again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. _Silly,_ Ginny scolded herself. _You don't _blush_ in front of Harry Potter anymore, remember?_

She heard Harry sigh out loud. _Here it comes,_ Ginny thought, bracing herself.

"I heard a couple of your friends talking about you," Harry began. "They were saying that…well…you'd been screaming in your sleep a few nights ago, and it…freaked them out."

It was Ginny's turn to sigh. She had expected this question from Harry for almost a week now. She had expected it from everyone who had the courage to ask, in fact.

And they did. Jane had asked; Ron and Hermione had, too. All Ginny had been able to tell them was that she'd had a terrible dream; of what, she hadn't had the guts to say. She surmised that Jane probably knew, but if she did, she never let Ginny know.

What Ginny had steeled herself for was the eventual, inevitable exchange with Harry. She knew—somehow, she knew—that he would ask her personally. And she also knew, somehow, that she _would_ tell him, for no apparent reason beside the fact that...

She _wanted_ him to know.

And yet, whenever she looked at him, she would remember her dream. She could only glance at him briefly nowadays, for if she lingered on his face for too long, she would see his hair smoothen into neat locks… she would find that his bright green eyes had turned gray… and she would have to look away, shuddering, disgusted at herself for thinking, even in her dreams, that Harry was anything like Tom Riddle.

Harry was still staring at her in expectation, still with his arm on a knee. Under normal circumstances, Ginny would have smiled at how cute and careless he looked.

"What was it about, Ginny?" Harry pressed on.

Ginny closed her eyes and spoke to the window. "It was a nightmare," she muttered.

"I know that," Harry said quietly.

Ginny paused—and then, "I dreamt of Tom Riddle."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Harry straighten up in shock. He put his foot back on the floor and leaned closer to her.

"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice soft yet firm.

_How can I tell him, dammit? _Ginny swore inwardly. Thinking quickly, she plunged on, "It was just like my usual dreams of him. Tom Riddle, coming to me, threatening me, then me falling into…" She let her voice trail off.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Harry whispered.

Ginny nodded slowly.

Ginny had the impression that Harry was still staring at her in shock. Then, after a long minute, he spoke again. "That's what you go through every night?"

Ginny suddenly turned her eyes towards him. He was staring at her in shock, yes, but there was something else. In his eyes, behind his glasses, was a hint of something that she had seen before…. Yes, it was an expression she had seen last Saturday, in the Quidditch pitch. It was a furious, repulsed look, not directed at her, but at someone who had hurt her. Something warm suddenly rose to her chest; she could suddenly look straight at him.

"Well, not every night," Ginny said, chuckling grimly. "It started about a month ago or so… and since then, I dreamed of him three times. Of course I see the same thing whenever a Dementor comes near," she added, shrugging, as though the gesture would help keep her from dwelling too much on her pains.

"I…didn't know that," Harry replied quietly.

"It's not something I just tell anyone. It's just not… _okay_ to do that." Ginny forced a smile. "But hey, look, I'm telling you everything."

Harry smiled back; by the look of it, his own smile seemed to be forced as well. Then he frowned slightly. "Why are you…telling _me_ this?"

Ginny shrugged. "I dunno…to get it off my chest, maybe? And…," she added hesitantly, "you probably understand it better than anyone."

"Oh." Harry still had the slight frown creasing his forehead. "So… if you just tell someone you feel a bit better about it afterwards?"

It was only then when Ginny realized that Harry was trying to tell her something. "Someone who understands, I guess," she told him, all the while searching his eyes.

Harry merely looked at her, then nodded and looked outside.

Now Ginny found herself to be the one staring. She studied the side of Harry's face, the creases on his forehead, the faraway, almost sad look in his eyes. It seemed to her that Harry wanted to say something as important as what she had just revealed—probably even more important—but he was, like she had been just a while ago, debating how to tell her.

Her thoughts were sent flying away as the door to their compartment slid open. Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione all scrambled inside.

"I told you, no one sells Butterbeer here, Luna," Ron said, slumping beside Ginny.

Luna sighed. "Yes, Ronald, I'm sorry," she said coldly.

"Well, maybe you can use other corks," Neville said.

"The key to successful necklace-making," Luna told Neville pointedly, as if she were explaining the fundamental laws of the universe, "is the uniformity of each cork so as to achieve order."

"If you say so," Ron said, obviously only managing to stop himself from laughing out loud at the last minute.

A smile tugged at Ginny's lips. She saw that Harry was smiling at everyone, too—but a closer look at him told her that he had on a forced smile, and he was still holding something back.

And she gathered that he, too, wanted them to know.

Ginny loved the food at Hogwarts, but there was something about home-cooked meals that made her long for them every now and then. Her mum had heartily served roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, potatoes and treacle pudding—what essentially constituted a simple dinner at the Burrow, really—but it was probably the best meal she'd had in a while.

"Night, Dad," Ginny now said as Mr. Weasley ascended their rickety stairs. He looked tired, Ginny saw; he had also arrived late tonight. Ginny had a good idea why.

"Good night, kids," her father said with a smile, brushing his balding red hair with a hand. "Go to sleep early, okay? You have to be in Diagon Alley by ten."

"Sure, Dad. Night," said Ron distractedly. He, Harry and Hermione were adding baubles to the Christmas tree that was standing on the corner. The pine tree was too huge for their tiny living room; it brushed the ceiling overhead and took up a lot of floor space.

"Good night, Mr. Weasley," Hermione and Harry said in unison.

As her father disappeared, Ginny stood up and headed to their kitchen. Her mother was piling plates in the sink.

_"Scourgify!"_ Mrs. Weasley said, pointing her wand at the dirty dishes. They immediately became sparkling clean.

"Need help?" Ginny asked.

"No, thank you dear," Mrs. Weasley replied without looking from the dishes. She waved her wand once, and as though following its movement, the dishes flew towards the open shelves above Ginny's head.

Ginny leaned against the wall next to her mum. "So…you're not going to tell me what happened just some weeks ago?"

This time, her mother looked at her with an expression of tender weariness she had seen many times before. "You never give up, do you?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'm just worried," she said.

Mrs. Weasley looked at her, then sighed. "There are some things that are better kept as secrets, Ginny."

"Yeah, but what if something _happens_ to you and Dad without _us_ knowing?" Ginny asked, resisting the urge to raise her voice.

"Ginny," her mother said, her voice firm and stern, "try to understand. Everything has a time of its own. When _this_ is over," she said with a slight toss of her head, and Ginny knew exactly what her mother was referring to, "you'll know and understand."

Ginny continued to look at her mother doubtfully.

"There are some things you'd rather not tell _me_, after all, aren't there?"

Ginny's eyes widened; then, seeing that her mother was suddenly grinning teasingly, her cheeks flared.

"Harry seems different," her mother continued as she continued cleaning the kitchen. "He looks changed."

"It's not about Harry, Mum," Ginny said exasperatedly.

"Hmm? Then what is it?"

Ginny didn't say anything.

Mrs. Weasley smiled her motherly smile at Ginny. "You'll tell me in due time, of course?"

Ginny sighed in defeat. "Of course, Mum."

Mrs. Weasley's smile widened, but Ginny saw her keep a curious gaze on her even as she left the kitchen.

Ginny was the last to go to bed that night. As she climbed the stairs to her room, where Hermione was already sleeping, she paused on the third landing and looked up. There was a faint sound of clanking pipes—the ghoul in the attic, she thought. Ron's room, which was right underneath the attic, was almost directly above hers. Harry would be there. She was almost certain he was staring at the ceiling, listening with fascination to the ghoul.

_Everything has a time of its own._

Still, Ginny wondered what it was that Harry had wanted to say in the Hogwarts Express today. She cocked her head, thinking, then slowly smiled. _Everything has a time of its own._ What if her mum was hinting to a secret of Harry's that had something to do with _her_?

Chuckling to herself, Ginny shook her head. Now that was silly. She started moving again, yawning widely. But just as she was about to enter her room, she heard the sound of footsteps coming from above, sounding progressively louder than the noise of the clanking pipes.

Ginny froze. Even before Harry came into view, she knew it was him. Did she really know him that well, to know the sound of his own footfalls? Or had she somehow brought him there just by thinking about him?

For some reason, Harry also seemed to have sensed Ginny's presence. He descended the last few steps slowly. A flickering overhead lamp illuminated his tired features and tousled hair.

"Can't sleep?" Ginny asked awkwardly.

"Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "…Not really."

Ginny cocked her head. "What's up?"

Harry took a step closer. He looked slightly out of breath and completely embarrassed with what he was about to say.

"I just…wanted to check if you were…you know. Sleeping soundly."

Ginny blinked. Twice. She stared at Harry in utter surprise.

"Well…I know what it's like to have nightmares and…" Harry ended the sentence with an embarrassed shrug.

Overwhelmed, Ginny continued to gaze at him as she smiled with her mouth slightly open. "Harry," she began—but that was all she could manage.

Harry gawkily ran a hand though his hair. "So…"

Ginny bit her lip, still smiling, still thrown off by this simple gesture of attention. She gazed at him in wonder. How could she ever think that this person, standing right next to her just to wish her a sound sleep, could be anything like Tom Riddle? This was _Harry_, and he just wanted to _check_ if she was _sleeping soundly_.

Ginny's heart surged with a tumult of emotions, all the while silently dictating that no matter how hard she'd try, she would never be able to put what she was feeling right then into any intelligible word. And that was why she stood on tiptoe, put a hand on his cheek, and kissed him softly on the lips.

Ginny felt Harry's jaw tense. Then, as she closed her eyes, she felt both of Harry's hands on her hair. He kissed her back, gently and carefully, and it was like no other kiss had ever felt, like kisses in her childhood dreams that had only come to life that night.

She was the first to pull away. She looked up at him and saw his eyes open slowly. In the flickering light, he gazed at her, playing with a lock of her hair on one of his hands, stunned, searching, as though he had uncovered a treasure that he didn't know had been there all along.

"Ginny?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes?"

With the same probing look, he slowly asked, "If your dad sees us…d'you think I'd have to stay out in the snow tonight?"

Ginny broke into a grin. Eyes shining, heart swelling, she looked at him impishly. "I don't know," she said softly. "You'll have to find out for yourself, I guess."

Harry smiled back. And kissed her again.


	10. Chapter Nine

**I Wished For You Once**

Chapter Nine 

When Ginny opened her eyes the next morning, although she was barely out of the haze that characterized the threshold between sleep and wakefulness, she wondered why she was feeling deliriously happy. And then she remembered.

Ginny closed her eyes again and a silly grin spread across her face. She buried her face deeper into her pillow as images of Harry's warm smile and dazed stare came rushing back to her. Perhaps she was overreacting; maybe she still was not fully awake—but the feel of Harry's lips still lingered on hers, and she thought she could still taste them when she concentrated well enough.

Realizing that Harry was probably downstairs waiting for her with everybody else, Ginny sat up and glanced at the clock beside her. It was a few minutes past seven. Looking around the room, she found that Hermione was already gone, her sleeping bag rolled up and propped against a wall.

Ginny stood up, crossed the room, and sat in front of her bureau, gazing at her own image the mirror. The morning light from the window behind her cast a halo around her head, enhancing the sparkle in her eyes and the slight blush underneath her many freckles.

__

This is going to be a good day.

Smiling dreamily, Ginny quickly brushed her hair, put on her dressing gown, and went down to the kitchen for breakfast.

"'Morning all," she said. Her eyes immediately swept the kitchen for Harry—and there he was, at the dining table, looking up from his plate.

Ginny caught his eye and smiled. Harry smiled back, almost lazily, and motioned to the empty seat beside him.

Ginny's heart fluttered as she made her way to Harry's side. She and Harry exchanged another knowing smile before she turned to Hermione, who had pushed a plate of eggs in front of her. Only then did she notice that apart from Harry, only Ron and Hermione were present.

"Where's Dad?" Ginny asked.

"He had an emergency meeting," Mrs. Weasley replied, bringing a jug of hot chocolate to the table. "Good morning, dear."

Ginny looked up at her mother and frowned slightly. There was a nonchalant air about Mrs. Weasley, as though she was trying not to think about something. Yet Ginny saw that her mother was disturbed by a thought. She saw it when Mrs. Weasley set the jug on the table; the jug shook slightly as she did so.

Ginny was shaken out of her thoughts by the grandfather clock in the corner, the one that informed them of the whereabouts of each member of the family. Two of the nine hands had suddenly turned to "traveling". Squinting, Ginny saw that they were Fred's and George's. The two of them were now staying in a flat in Hogsmeade, where the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes joke shop was situated.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Weasley said. "Those two are going with you to Diagon Alley."

"You're not coming with us?" asked Ginny, surprised.

"No, dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled ruefully. "I've got work to do."

The two hands halted on "Home" just as Fred and George appeared in the kitchen, wearing matching brown coats of what looked like genuine leather.

"Mum!" Fred and George greeted at the same time.

"You two," Mrs. Weasley said, hugging the twins as they politely kept still. "You're just in time for breakfast."

"Aww, you _kids_!" Fred greeted energetically as he and George headed to the table. He gave Ron a slap on the back and Hermione a milder pat on the shoulder. "How've you four been?"

"We're great," Ginny said with a grin.

George came up beside Ginny and hugged her from the side. "I bet Hogwarts is boring without us."

"Yeah," Ron admitted, rubbing the spot where Fred had smacked him.

"It's been a relatively quiet term," Hermione agreed thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, at least there's Quidditch to keep you amused at times," Fred said, taking a seat beside Hermione.

Ginny felt her stomach clench at the word "Quidditch", knowing what her brothers would be asking afterwards.

"Say," George said, sitting beside Fred, "how about a spot of Quidditch after breakfast?"

"Good idea, George," said Fred, piling eggs on his plate.

The twins did not seem to notice Harry, Ron and Hermione glance at Ginny, who had fixed her eyes on the sausages her mother had just brought to the table.

"Er," Hermione began uneasily, "don't you think we'd be a bit late for Diagon Alley if you still—"

"Aw, it'll only be for an hour or less, Hermione," said Fred.

"And it's only half past seven," added George.

"Well—_I_ think it's a good idea," Harry said slowly. Ginny saw him glancing at her again. "Er…what do you think, Ginny?"

Struggling to keep a straight face, Ginny gripped her fork tightly in her fist. "Um…maybe not today."

Fred and George looked up from their food and stared at her. "But _why_?" they asked in unison, both wearing identical scandalized expressions.

Ginny shrugged, and then feigned a haughty smile. "Playing against you two is too easy."

Fred and George both groaned out loud.

"One year in the team and that's how big her head already is," muttered Fred.

Ginny's smile remained frozen on her face. She did not think that the fact that she had just been thrown off the Gryffindor team would sit very well with her two brothers. She had barely even lasted for a year.

But they did not have to know.

Three hours later, the six of them were standing outside Flourish and Blotts. Upon Flooing to Diagon Alley, Hermione had immediately made a beeline to the bookshop, much to the dismay of the boys.

"It will only take a minute," Hermione insisted. "I'll just buy presents for my parents and that's it!"

"Really," Ron muttered in disbelief.

"Okay, okay," George said, taking charge. "What if we just split? Me and George have to check out the Apothecary for fireworks ingredients—"

Ron had already started walking away from Flourish and Blotts. "And Harry and I'll just go check out Quality Quidditch Supplies—"

__

"Hey!" Hermione protested, glaring pointedly at Ron.

Harry laughed. "Oh, just go with Hermione," he said with a wink. "Let's meet in the Leaky Cauldron in…an hour?"

Ron started mouthing in complaint, then finally grunted and accompanied Hermione as she headed back to Flourish and Blotts.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He'll come around. As always," she added. "See you later, then."

Harry nodded and then waved to Fred and George, who also began to leave. Harry and Ginny were left standing on the street.

Ginny felt that she had to start talking; she had been quiet all morning after breakfast while everybody else was in an excited mood. She did not want to damped anyone's spirits anymore, and so to make up for it, she decided to cheer herself up. "Well," she began, looking around, "where to now?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "You wanted to buy some presents?"

Ginny thought for a second. "Let's check out Quality Quidditch Supplies first, then let's go buy some junk for presents."

Harry grinned and nodded. Ginny started walking, and to her surprise, she felt Harry's hand close on hers.

It was as if Harry had closed his hand on her heart as well. Looking up at his face, Ginny saw that his cheeks were slightly flushed. He threw Ginny a slightly embarrassed, questioning smile.

Ginny smiled back. He was just too adorable. She gave his hand a squeeze to reassure him that it was all right.

Ginny admired the broomsticks and national team uniforms in Quality Quidditch Supplies as she waited for Harry while he purchased some items for presents. Next, the two of them bought gifts for Hermione in the adjacent stationery shop. Afterwards, they headed to the junk shop, where Ginny bought some old flower pots for her mum and a used Muggle automobile repair kit for her dad.

"Your dad's working on a car again?" Harry asked as they waited for a tall, burly wizard wearing a smelly balaclava standing ahead of them in line to the counter.

"Oh yes," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "This time, it's a little car with this humped roof. Dad says this car's not only going to fly; he'll be able to submerge it underwater too."

"And it'll run underwater?" Harry asked, looking both intrigued and amused.

"He says he's working on it," Ginny said, sniggering. "And he's been saying that since summer."

Ginny paid for the pots and the repair kit, then both of them headed to Madam Malkin's. As Ginny looked around the shop, she noticed a navy blue dress robe with elaborate lace patterns in silver hanging for display. She smiled slightly. "That was what Michael wore to the Yule Ball," she said, pointing.

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "Something like what Lockhart would wear," he muttered.

Ginny elbowed him playfully, grinning. "He's not _that_ bad." She started heading towards the shelves lined with earmuffs and tam-o'-shanters.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

Harry hesitated, then, "Why exactly did you break up with Corner?"

Ah, the question. She absently picked up a navy blue scarf. There had been many reasons. Michael did not understand her independence. She did not understand his priorities. He had said she was being detached. She had said he was being an idiot. In the end he had chosen to comfort the one he'd had his eyes on for a long time rather than pretend to be happy for Ginny for catching the Snitch during a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match.

Ginny sighed. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe…we just had too little in common."

Harry didn't look satisfied with her answer.

"Can I ask _you_ something?" Ginny asked, hoping to change the topic.

"What?"

"Why exactly did you and Cho break up?"

Harry looked slightly perplexed by her question at first. Then he stared at her thoughtfully. Shrugging, he said, "I guess we just had too much in common."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "What do you…_oh_," she finished, understanding fully, wondering why she was so slow on the uptake. _Cedric Diggory._ "I…I see."

They made their purchases without further conversation. As they left the shop, Ginny realized that she had not yet found a gift for Harry. And there was still one place she had not checked out yet.

"Hey," she said, "can you just—er, go ahead without me? Or wait for me here? I still have a couple of things to buy…."

Harry looked at her amusedly. "I have to buy something for you, too," he said sheepishly.

Ginny laughed and grinned playfully. "Well, so we could further spare each other the surprise…"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning. "Let's meet here in a few."

Ginny left Harry and headed in the direction of Gringgots, smiling to herself. The day was shaping up to be the good day she had thought it would be, despite the little incident during breakfast. Ginny winced inwardly. _Let's just hope that's the last of today's little incidents,_ she thought.

Between the wizarding bank and the Magical Menagerie was a small alleyway where some gypsies sold brass jewelries, antique vases and other novelty items. She had no idea what she could find there for Harry, but she decided to give it a shot anyway.

Ginny usually took a long time studying the products, and that morning was no exception. There were several sellers already there. Ginny passed one after another, idly studying items, until she reached a heavily veiled witch who sat behind a low table that showcased peculiar jewelry. There, she found a smaller version of Bill's dragon fang earrings and a silver bracelet with charms that looked like miniature Snitches.

Ginny set her bags down and picked up the bracelet. "Wow," she said. Even the wings of the Snitches fluttered madly, as though trying to flee the chains that bound them to the bracelet. She was reminded of that strange game Harry played with himself, the one which involved him letting go of a Snitch and catching it before it flew out of his reach.

"That'll be six sickles, my dear," said the voice of the woman underneath the veil.

Ginny looked up at the woman. She could just make out the smile on the woman's lips through the shadows of her veil.

Ginny knew Harry would not exactly appreciate a girl's bracelet, but she wondered if she still had enough money to buy it for herself. She reached for her pocket for her money bag and smiled at the woman. "I'll just check—"

Her words froze mid-sentence when she saw the smile on the woman again and realized that it was not a friendly smile at all.

__

She's sneering at me.

I've seen that sneer before.

Ginny's blood went cold. She heard her heart hammering hard against her chest.

Before Ginny knew it, Bellatrix Lestrange cried—_"STUPEFY!"_

"PROTEGO!"

Ginny had whipped her wand out of her pocket and cast the Shield Charm upon herself. The suddenness of it made her unable to cast the spell properly; just as the Stunning Spell hit the Shield, she felt a sharp sting across her cheek. But she did not have the time to dwell on it; thinking quickly, she kicked Lestrange's table with all her might, sending jewelry in all places.

And she ran out of the alleyway, wand in hand, weaving her way around mobbing gypsies, towards Diagon Alley, where people stared at the commotion.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Ginny looked up to see Harry rushing towards her. She had to recoil. The eyes that had gazed at her warmly just a few minutes ago were now aflame with rage.

Harry did not give her the time to answer, however; he grabbed her arm and led her quickly from the crowd.

Ginny stumbled after him. She could feel his arms shaking. "Harry, Bellatrix Lestrange was there," she blurted out.

Ginny felt Harry grip her wrist harder. "They're all here," he said harshly.

"_What?_ But—Harry, there are other _people_ here!"

__

"They're not after them!" Harry snapped.

Ginny stared at Harry, her heart sinking even as he continued to drag her to the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

All of a sudden, Harry stopped. Ginny heard him swear under his breath.

"What—" Ginny began, but then she saw it. A heavily cloaked wizard, staring at them, was guarding the door to the Leaky Cauldron. She had seen those eyes before, too.

__

They're all here.

Ginny felt her chest constrict. Terror flooded its way through her veins. She was suddenly very, very afraid; she had not felt this afraid since last June in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry slipped her shaking hand into his and tugged. "Let's go back," he said in a quivering whisper. The fury was gone in his voice.

Ginny looked at him for comfort, more than anything. He seemed to struggle to be calm, to look normal to the shoppers around them, but his back was unnaturally straight and his neck was craned, betraying his purpose; he looked like a stag sniffing the air, aware of danger.

Ginny swallowed her fright and forced a calm tone. "Go back where?" she asked.

"Anywhere. As long as there's a fireplace. We have to Floo back to the Burrow."

__

The Burrow. Another wave of terror. "Where are the others?"

"They've gone back."

Ginny's thoughts were suddenly in a whirlwind; she fought to keep them in control as she stared around her, straining all her senses for any sign of a Death Eater.

__

They've gone back, she repeated in her head._ They knew. Someone must have told them. They left instantly—_

No. They looked for Harry and me. They found Harry. They couldn't find me…

And Harry insisted he stay, to look for me.

And a realization, unbidden, suddenly rose out of her reeling thoughts: _We're both trapped here._

But where's the Order now?

"Here," Ginny heard Harry say. He was headed to Quality Quidditch Supplies. There were many people there…and if Harry was right—that the Death Eaters were not after the people—with any luck, they might get to the Burrow without any problem…

The doorbell rang when they entered the shop. The buyers turned to look at the two of them—they both had their wands out and they certainly looked alert and frightened. Ginny swore inwardly. Doorbells in shops had never bothered her until now.

Ginny spotted a fireplace, where there was a small fire burning, at the back of the shop. "There," she said to Harry, pointing. She went straight to it, Harry behind her, making sure that no one was looking. There were no people around when they got there.

"I got it," Harry said, pocketing his wand and handing her a small bag of Floo powder.

Ginny nodded resolutely. She took a pinch of powder. "Follow quick," she whispered.

Harry's gaze faltered; for an infinitesimal moment, Ginny saw the growing fear in his eyes. Then it vanished, and he touched her hand briefly and nodded once.

Ginny nodded back; then, she threw the powder into the flames, expecting the fire to turn green and rise higher than herself—

But the fire remained as it was.

"Damn," Ginny breathed, "it's blocked—"

"But of course it is, my little one," said a low, cold voice behind Harry.

Ginny's hair on the back of her head prickled. Blood drained from her face. She had heard that voice before.

She turned around to look at Harry. A man stood very close behind him—it was the burly man they had seen in the junk shop, wearing the balaclava. Now she saw a horrible face in front of her—a big, hairy face, with a large diagonal scar across his nose and a permanently closed left eye, as though there was nothing behind the lids. She had seen his picture not too long ago in the _Prophet_.

It was the former executioner. Macnair.

Harry was directly in front of Macnair. He was staring at Ginny, immobile, breathing harshly. His hands were frozen on his sides. He stared at her, wide-eyed, as though he was trying to tell her to run away and leave quickly, even without him.

For a split second, she wondered if he was under a spell.

And then she knew.

"That's right," he said in a soft, horrible voice. "I have my wand jabbing your boyfriend's back here, and if you don't follow me I could blast him to pieces." He smiled mockingly. "That's for trying to Floo through a fireplace in this shop—didn't you think they'd lock it to prevent shoplifters from escaping?"

Ginny swore harshly between her teeth. _How bloody stupid can you get!_

"Now get out of here, and mind you don't try anything stupid again 'cause I'm not the only one watching you."

Macnair was grinning horribly at her.

Ginny took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on Macnair's face; he likewise kept his on her.

"I don't believe you," Ginny shot back, stalling for time, all the while thinking furiously. _Where's the Order? Surely they've gotten wind of this by now!_ She tried to train her eyes on the customers, but they were too far away and hidden.

Macnair narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Why not?"

Ginny dared a glance at Harry—and hope surged within her. Without Macnair's eyes on him, he was inching his hands into his robes.

Forcing herself to keep a straight face, she answered, sounding braver than she felt, "You can't…blast him to pieces…that's not what—what V-Voldemort wants—"

Macnair's face darkened. "How _dare_ you," he said harshly, "speak the Dark Lord's name—"

__

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry yelled.

__

"STUPEFY!" Ginny cried almost immediately.

Within a split second, Macnair's wand flew out of his grasp, and he fell backwards onto the floor. Several cries erupted inside the shop.

"COME ON!" Harry shouted at her.

He reached for her, but his fingertips barely grazed her hand when his set expression suddenly became one of shock and pain.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Harry let his breath out in a gasp as he fell, his glasses askew, his now naked eyes widely staring at Ginny as though asking for help. She, numbed for the moment, unable to speak, threw herself in front of him and caught him in her arms.

They landed on the floor together, Ginny hitting the cold floor on her backside. She did not feel the pain. Instead she looked up and saw Bellatrix Lestrange advancing towards them, wand pointing at her.

Ginny shut her eyes.

__

"STUPEFY!"

It was a different voice—a familiar, comforting one despite its urgency, and when Ginny heard it she suddenly came back to her senses. Lestrange gave a cry of defeat as she fell into a heap beside Macnair.

__

"DAD!"

A pale and sweating Mr. Weasley ran towards them. Without any explanations, he pushed an old flower pot—one similar to the one she had bought for her mum just earlier, a detached part of her mind said—into Ginny's hands.

He kissed her hard on her forehead. "Go," he said. "Take Harry. You'll be safe at home."

Ginny glanced at Harry. His eyes were closed.

She held him closer to her, her heart sinking in dread. "Dad, where are you—"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I'll be safe. Go—_now_—"

A protest escaped Ginny's lips, but it quickly died down as she felt a harsh jerk behind her navel, pulling her forward off the floor. As the colors spun around her and the wind whipped at her hair and robes, she buried her face into Harry's neck, hardly daring to move, until they both fell onto the floor of the Burrow with a large _thump_.

_**Notes:** As always, big thanks to **Alcarcalime** and ** ReaderRavenclaw** for the beta!_


	11. Chapter Ten

_**Author's Notes:** I thought of updating to celebrate this momentous day, the day when JKR announced the release of HBP. **July 16, 2005**, people! :-) I love J. K. Rowling._

_Thank you, Alcarcalime and ReaderRavenclaw for the beta. I love you too! :-)_

**I Wished for You Once**

__

Chapter Ten

Ginny was awakened by the sheets moving under her dead-tired arms. She lifted her head, feeling a tickling on her right cheek—she'd had a cut there just hours before—and saw Harry's eyes slowly fluttering open.

Harry stared at the ceiling, blinking, then looked around Percy's old bedroom before finally training his eyes on Ginny. He squinted, as though wondering what he was doing, lying on the bed in the unfamiliar room.

"Harry?" Ginny asked cautiously.

Harry blinked once more, staring at her with his mouth half open. Then Ginny saw the light of recollection slowly fill his eyes; they widened, and he immediately tried to raise himself up.

"Not yet, not yet," Ginny said, gently pushing his shoulder back down. She gave him his glasses, which Hermione had repaired earlier. He placed them on the bridge of his nose and stared back at her, blinking owlishly.

"How are you feeling?" Ginny asked.

Harry tried to sit up once again. "I'm—" Suddenly he yelped and sank back down on the pillow.

Ginny's heart sank. "Don't," she admonished. "You cracked a couple of ribs from that curse..."

Harry grimaced, clutching his side. "What happened?"

"Well… we got away." Ginny smiled grimly.

"No," said Harry. Ginny detected an edge of impatience in his voice. "What happened? Why were they there? What happened to everyone?"

Ginny closed her eyes briefly. She really did not want to relive anything, especially for Harry—but she knew he deserved nothing but the truth.

"Well, there were no casualties or anything. They told me there'd been a huge mob when everybody found out that Death Eaters were in Diagon Alley… but it wasn't as bad as, say, the one in the Quidditch World Cup… maybe because now they've been forewarned since the Ministry admitted You-Know-Who's alive." She gave him another grim smile. "After Lestrange hit you with some curse, Dad arrived and Stunned her. He gave me a Portkey… and here we are."

"And?" Harry pressed on, cocking his head.

"And… as soon as we got away… the Death Eaters left."

Harry knotted his forehead. "Why?"

"I've been itching to know all day too, Harry," she said truthfully.

Harry's frown deepened. "So they really weren't after the people, were they?"

"Apparently not," said Ginny quietly. She knew Harry deduced the same thing she was thinking: that Voldemort was after _him_ again.

A long silence fell over them. Ginny kept her eyes on Harry even long after he looked away from her. He seemed to be struggling with something.

"Where's Ron and Hermione?" he finally asked in a thin voice.

"They're downstairs," Ginny answered, wondering where this was leading to.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, and clamped it shut again.

Ginny lifted her eyebrows slightly. A hunch formed in her mind—it looked as though he want to talk to Ron and Hermione about the incident, or perhaps about… something more important. But then, as though forming a conclusion, he shook his head in what looked like defeat—Ginny doubted that he himself noticed it—and exhaled loudly.

"Okay," he said simply.

Ginny bit her lip. "All right," she said. "Er—would you like a cup of tea? Anything?"

For the first time since he woke up, Harry smiled a little. "Sure."

Ginny smiled back, though halfheartedly. "Right. Be back in a minute."

She left Percy's room and went downstairs. Ron and Hermione were in the dining room, sitting side by side, talking in low voices. Earlier, the two of them had fought passionately against the members of the Order when they were told to stay put in the Burrow. Ron and Hermione had wanted to know what was happening; they had wanted to be involved. Of course, knowing what the Order was like towards those whom they thought were too "young", Ginny had known that the two's arguments would be of no avail. In fact, the Order sent a member—_Mundungus Fletcher, of all people,_ Ginny thought wryly—to keep a lookout at the Burrow.

Ginny had held this information from Harry. She did not think it was important; besides, she did not want to fuel Harry's suspicions about Voldemort.

When Ginny entered the kitchen, Ron and Hermione looked up expectantly.

"He's awake," Ginny announced.

Hermione gave a loud sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God."

Ron, however, raised his eyebrows at her. "You don't look like it," he said.

Ginny did not have the energy to make a sarcastic retort. "Go see for yourself, then," she said as she took a pot of tea from the stove.

Ron and Hermione were about to stand up when they heard the front door open. Ginny expected Mundungus Fletcher to enter, but instead, Fred and George appeared in the doorway.

It seemed to Ginny that the twins had aged during the remainder of the day. They were bearing matching uncharacteristic scowls, and they both headed straight for the kitchen without a word. Ginny brought more cups to the dining room.

Ron tapped the table restlessly. "So," he began, "what's happened now?"

Fred tossed an _Evening Prophet_ onto the table. Hermione dived for it, and Ron and Ginny went around to read the paper behind her.

__

Death Eaters apprehended in Diagon Alley, the title said. The three of them read silently.

Bellatrix Lestrange and Walden Macnair were apprehended early today during a raid in Diagon Alley. A commotion ensued inside Quality Quidditch Supplies, but quick action on the part of the Ministry prevented any major mishap from happening.

There were no casualties, and Ministry Aurors were able to calm the crowd. Diagon Alley shops are still open for business, although more Aurors are now patrolling the area.

__

Propaganda, Ginny thought. She shook her head in disbelief and looked up at Fred and George. "So much for conveying the truth through journalism, huh?" she said airily.

George chuckled darkly as he poured himself some tea. "They wouldn't know a raid from an abduction scheme if it stared at them in the face."

Fred promptly elbowed him hard, glaring. George, realizing what he had just said, immediately blanched.

"Abduction?" Hermione said, looking a bit pale herself. "Is that what it really was?"

George glowered at Ginny, who bit back a self-satisfied smile.

"I think we have a right to know, too," Ginny said simply. "Even if you don't tell us, we'll always have ways…"

George sniffed. "Look—I'm not—we _can't_ tell you anything. You're too young."

Ron ignored him. "Then next time you go shopping with us, keep us in the dark again so we'll know what we're dealing with, right?"

Ron's mockery seemed to bite into the twins. Fred and George exchanged guilty glances. Ginny had rarely ever seen this before, and never in front of an angry Ron. She almost pitied the twins for it.

Fred looked from Ron, to Hermione, to Ginny, as though making up his mind.

"The Death Eaters didn't expect there'd be a commotion," Fred said. "They thought—whoever they'd kidnap—would go with them quietly."

"Everyone knowing they were in Diagon Alley wasn't part of their plan," George said.

Ginny rubbed her tingling cheek absently. So Harry _had _been their target today. But why?

"Why didn't the Order get wind of it beforehand?" asked Hermione.

"Very few Death Eaters knew about the plan—so the Order didn't," Fred answered.

"The Order's still arguing," George said grimly. "Blaming each other for not being vigilant. Neither the Ministry nor the Order anticipated it, you know."

"Actually," Fred added, "very early this morning they received intelligence of some strange activity by the Death Eaters. Members of the Order were alerted. Dad and Mum went." He rolled his eyes slightly. "He told us to babysit you four."

"Yeah," said George. "But they never did find out what the Death Eaters were up to till it was..."

"Almost too late," Fred finished for him.

Silence fell over them as they weighed the information. However, none of it answered what Ginny had been keen on knowing all day.

Ginny spoke up. "Why were they all in Diagon Alley without attacking anyone? Why were they after _us_?"

Fred looked at her, his eyes hollow. "They're not _exactly_ after _us_," he said. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "If what you mean by us is… well, _us_."

Ginny suddenly felt hot anger rise up to her face. She had anticipated this; she knew exactly what Fred meant, but actually hearing it confirmed by someone reliable—and realizing that it was, after all, the truth—was too much for her to bear. She stood up and scowled at her brother, her cheeks burning. "Stop saying it like Harry's not part of your so-called _us_, Fred—"

Fred raised both palms up. "Forgive the clash of semantics, dear sister—I didn't mean it _that_ way—"

"Well, it sure sounded like it," Ginny spat. "You know whatever Harry goes through, _we_ go through. He's not in this _alone_."

Fred and George exchanged curious, questioning glances after Ginny's outburst. Ginny knew they were wondering what had prompted their little sister to be so defensive of Harry. Ginny ignored them as she plunged on, "Don't ever say he's any different from us, because he's _not_, all right?"

"Ginny," George interrupted, drumming his fingers on the table uneasily, "no one ever said he is. You're overreacting."

Ginny huffed and sat back down. "But it _is_ Harry they're after," she prompted.

"Yeah. Who else could it be?"

Ginny scowled again, but she could make no response.

Fred was staring at his cup of tea thoughtfully. "Most of the Order think so, anyway," he said.

Hermione suddenly looked up. "Why? What do others think?" she asked quickly.

Fred shrugged. "Lupin was wondering why it seemed like Lestrange had been _waiting_ for Ginny in that alleyway."

Ginny's heart plummeted to her stomach. "Wha—_me_? What do I…?"

"What are you saying?" Ron asked, looking nervous.

"Could be that we're targeted because more than half of the family are members of the Order," George rationalized. He looked calm—much too calm—despite the information.

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. "That can't be—that's a pretty desperate move from V-Voldemort to cripple the Order, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Fred said. He turned to Ginny. "But imagine what would happen if you and Harry hadn't got away."

Ginny stared back at Fred, her stomach turning over, her cheek itching more than ever. Abducting a Weasley family member was a desperate move, yes, but it might work for the Death Eaters if they were aiming to divert the Order's attention from things that were more important.

Ginny shuddered inwardly. If her Dad had not rescued her and Harry, there was no knowing what the two of them would be going through by now. She would probably have been killed—she knew all too well the capabilities of the Death Eaters when it came to killing. And although she still could not fully comprehend what Voldemort wanted with Harry, Ginny knew that having both of them in his hands would be a powerful weapon for him.

Ginny's thoughts were chased away by the slamming of the front door. The five of them jumped.

"Everything all right, kids?" Mundungus Fletcher slurred, grinning at them as he peeked into the dining room.

__

Kids. They always called them that, though they had been witness to how she and Harry had saved themselves. They still called them kids even though they had been the ones who had messed up in predicting this particular incident. Ginny hated the Order all of a sudden.

"Yeah," said Ginny, smiling sweetly. "Everything's fine, Mr. Fletcher. Maybe you'd like a cup of warm tea?"

And smiling sardonically, she slammed the teapot on the table and, to the shocked stares of everyone, stomped upstairs.

Ginny paused right outside Percy's room. Only then did she realize that her hands were shaking—with anger or with anxiety, she could not distinguish. She took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly, as though blowing out the tension that had built in her nerves.

__

What will Harry think? she wondered. He would be devastated, no doubt; he might even start feeling guilty again. That was Harry just a couple of months ago.

Ginny heaved another sigh. She did not want that for Harry all over again.

In an impulse, she opened the door—and suddenly froze.

Harry was standing in the middle of the room, as though he had come in right before she had. His jaw was set; one arm was curled on his stomach as he clutched at his side where his ribs had been broken. The expression in his eyes told her everything. But what startled her was the sudden change in him—a change so deep that he seemed to have gone back to the Harry she had known before he saved her from falling off her broomstick…

"H—Harry," she stuttered shakily, "y-you're not supposed to be up yet—"

Harry's eyebrows snapped together. "Why not?" His tone was grave. "So I couldn't eavesdrop on your conversations?"

Ginny gripped the doorknob till her knuckles were white. "N—no…no, Harry—"

"I heard everything."

Ginny's heart sank—not so much as with Harry's admission as with the hurt, betrayed voice beneath his angry exterior.

"I was going to tell you anyway," she replied in a small voice.

"Yeah? Then how much of it were you going to tell me?"

"Everything." And Ginny meant it. How could she hold anything back now?

"Even that part where you said who else the Death Eaters could be after but _me_?"

__

But you already_ know that,_ Ginny mentally rejoined. But just as her mouth formed the words, her breath caught in her throat as another thought entered her head: _Harry has always known._

"Maybe I should just go, huh?" Harry went on. "Leave you people alone so the Death Eaters won't go after you anymore—"

"And do you actually think we'd let you _do_ that?" Ginny abruptly cut him short, her temper rising all of a sudden with Harry's last statement. She shut the door behind her and glared at him. "Are we _that_ heartless to leave you alone?"

"You have no _choice_!" Harry bellowed. "While I'm with you, Voldemort will always be after you—"

__

"Didn't you hear?" Ginny shrieked, not letting him finish. She did not need—did not _want_ to hear the rest. "My parents and four of my brothers are members of the Order. They could abduct me or my brothers to cripple it. It doesn't have anything to do with you!"

"IT DOES!" Harry shouted so loudly, so violently that Ginny jumped back. Behind his glasses, his eyes were wide and tinted with uncontrollable fury. "IT HAS _EVERYTHING_ TO DO WITH ME! IT'S ABOUT VOLDEMORT, HE'S BEEN AFTER ME ALL THIS TIME, HE'LL _ALWAYS_ BE AFTER YOU 'CAUSE HE HAS TO _KILL_ ME—!"

Harry abruptly stopped; he clutched his side and screwed his face in pain, clenching his teeth. His breathing became ragged and forced. Ginny realized that Harry had been about to say something important, but had stopped himself when he got too close to blurting out the truth...

Her heart constricting painfully, Ginny rushed to his aid. "Harry—"

Harry turned his face from her. "No—don't come near—"

Ginny froze. Suddenly her patience reached its breaking point. "Why not?" she snapped. "Why won't you let me near you? Why don't you let _anyone_ near you? Don't you understand? We just want to help you—"

Harry raised his eyes at her. "You can't _help me_, all right?"

__

"Fine!" Ginny retorted. "At _least_ let us hear you out—you still have us, in case it still isn't clear to you! V-Voldemort isn't the only other person in your life—"

Harry barked a nasty, sardonic laugh. "Well, that's rich," he shot back, "coming from someone who won't tell anyone about Tom Riddle and who couldn't even _fly_ because of _him_!"

Harry could have just slapped her hard on her cheek.

Ginny stared at Harry, her mouth slightly open, as though he had just stabbed her in the chest, leaving the painful wrenching sensation she was feeling right there. _He didn't just say that. He didn't,_ she repeated in her head over and over again.

He stared back, looking shocked at his own outburst. The fury died in his eyes. His lips moved, as though he wanted to say something, to apologize. But not even an incoherent mumble came out.

The tears started to form in Ginny's eyes. "That's not true, Harry," she said jerkily. "You know that. It was that Bludger—it was Draco Malfoy—not that bastard Riddle—and you _bloody well know that, dammit_!"

Harry bit his lip. He made a motion to step towards Ginny, but she quickly stepped back.

Ginny swallowed and raised her head. He was _not_ going to see her cry. "Just because he runs your life doesn't mean he runs others' too," she told him, trying to even out her voice, but failing. "And he doesn't ruin mine."

The first expression that flashed across Harry's face was one of disbelief; Ginny half expected him to make another cutting remark, proving her claim false. But instead, his expression gave way to one of self-inflicted pain—and of agonizing regret.

Ginny knew what was coming even before Harry spoke.

"He will," he murmured.

"Why?" Her words were almost incomprehensible.

"Macnair knows I'm going out with you."

Ginny did not move. She could not breathe. Yet she did not feel her heart shatter to minute pieces; on the contrary, she could still feel it against her ribcage. Hear it beating slowly. Coldly. Impersonally. As though it was not part of her anymore.

__

So? SO? she wanted to scream at his face. And yet, what if she said just that? What would it matter? She already knew his answer; she could readily hear him saying it in a grave murmur. Of course she knew—because she had done the same to keep Harry away from Tom Riddle.

Tom had used her to get Harry. She had succumbed to his every bidding; she had not been able to stop herself from fulfilling his desires. He had always left her feeling filthy, but Tom had always been back, turning her into a pawn to Harry's death…

__

"You told me you'd let me use yourself to get Harry Potter..."

"NO! You won't get him—I won't let you!"

Unable to resist Tom, she had therefore detached herself. She had kept away from Harry, if only to keep him away from Tom….

And now—a thick fog of silence. Harry staring at her, remorse in his eyes. Deep in her heart, she understood Harry's intentions—but a cold, logical part of her head prevailed, scorning him, scorning them both. He was so bloody stupid, thinking that a breakup was going to keep Voldemort away from her.

And they had been going out for only one day. Ginny almost laughed aloud at the sheer idiocy of it. Harry was so stupid, always thinking of himself as the hero, always thinking that he could save the world by making sacrifices of his own. So, so stupid.

"Well, that's great," Ginny declared, squaring her shoulders. Her voice came out smooth, unaffected. She sneered contemptuously. "Thank you for putting a Dark Lord before your lovely girlfriend on your list of priorities."

Harry's head jerked upwards in surprise, but in the blink of an eye, the expression vanished; he now looked at her with a coldness that matched hers. Again, a detached part of her was dumbfounded at the change. _This isn't the person you just kissed last night,_ it whispered to her quietly.

Ginny turned around and strode towards the door. She opened it, got out without a second look at Harry, and slammed it shut.

Ron, Hermione, Fred and George were right outside; they jumped as Ginny shut the door. Ginny stared at them.

"Ginny—" Hermione began cautiously "—what's happened?"

Ginny blinked twice—and laughed derisively. The four of them had been right outside the door, listening to her and Harry. Had they pressed their ears on the door, one head on top of the other, trying to discern every word? She found the thought ludicrous and comical.

"Leave him alone," she said, strutting towards the staircase, still smiling cynically. "He really doesn't want anyone near him, in case Voldemort suddenly crashes in through Percy's window."

She was unfazed by the gazes of the four as she descended the steps until she reached the third landing. She automatically opened the door to her room and closed it quietly. Then she leaned her back on it.

Through her window, she could see the sky playing with pink and violet hues. Near the horizon, the sky was a darker shade of purple. The sun was probably setting now. When had she last seen the sun set? It had been a long time ago, it seemed. It had been… last autumn. There in the Owlery. She and Harry had sent Hedwig to her mum. She had been beside him, and glancing at him; she had been witness to the peacefulness on his face, on his smile, in his lovely, lovely eyes.

Harry could probably see the sunset now through Percy's window.

__

Harry.

Ginny let out a great, shuddering gasp and brought her hands to her mouth. Suddenly her smile was gone; tears of despair burst and spilled onto her cheeks without warning. Her knees buckled; she fell back on the door; her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Not even her hands were able to muffle the wail of despair that escaped her lips.

And somewhere above her, Harry closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of the window, unable to look at the sun set while hearing Ginny cry.

Ginny kicked the door of the broom shed open. Early morning sunlight spilled onto the broomsticks that stood against a corner. Ron's Shooting Star was there, as well as Fred and George's old Cleansweep Sevens.

Ginny snatched one Cleansweep. _I'll show him,_ she thought angrily. _I'll show him I'm not _that_ weak!_

She dragged herself across the snow, towards the slope where she and Ron had bickered about Quidditch seven years ago. She did not remember it now. She had just one purpose in mind: to prove to Harry—and, deep inside her, to herself—that Tom Riddle did not affect her so much that she could not fly anymore.

She climbed on the broomstick and kicked off. The bitter winter air whipped across her hair and her robes—but she took no heed of the cold. She flew higher, accelerating. She was good. She was damn good. Hell, she was the best flyer in the whole damn world.

Ginny laughed aloud. _Take that, Katie Bell,_ she thought. _This is what you just threw off your ruddy team!_

And all of a sudden—she felt the flash of pain at the back of her head.

Ginny swore. She gripped the broomstick tighter and flattened herself on the handle—but there it was again. She lost control of the broomstick for a second—and it suddenly made a dive.

"Dammit!" Ginny yelled, hastily pulling the broomstick up.

And then, a soothing voice whispered to her, as though the speaker was right beside her: _"Get the feel of flying.... Enjoy it, like it's always been a good thing. Forget about feeling afraid you'd fall...."_

How can I? HOW CAN I? Ginny yelled at the voice mentally. _There's no wonderful thought up here, Harry, not when Voldemort's presence hangs over our heads all the time!_

The voice did not respond. Ginny felt another wave of dizziness hit her. And now, she knew, she could not stay up in the air any longer.

Her erratic landing caused her to stumble on the snow. Cursing, she stood up and shook snow off her jumper. She grabbed the broomstick and trudged back to the broom shed, now feeling the cold seeping into her clothes.

She angrily threw the Cleansweep against one wall of the broom shed. It banged loudly against the wall, then fell onto the dust with a clatter. Ginny stared at it. When they left the Burrow later, the poor broomstick would have to stay there.

Ginny closed the door of the broom shed and locked it, fighting back tears.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_**Author's Notes:** Yes, I know it's been five months - but I just had to finish this before HBP comes out, you know:-) Many thanks, as usual, to Alcarcalime and ReaderRavenclaw for the beta. :-)_

**I Wished For You Once**  
_Chapter Eleven_

Despite its uninviting ambiance, number twelve, Grimmauld Place was usually in a flurry of activity. Witches and wizards bustled in and out of rooms, banging doors and arguing heatedly.

However, it had become apparent to Ginny that whenever the Order members passed by her, they would immediately hush up, give her a smile, and dash off to someplace  
else to continue their argument.

Ginny would try to eavesdrop on their conversations to get an idea of what was going on outside the depressing house, but the Order of the Phoenix seemed to have cast Imperturbable Charms everywhere since the Weasleys had moved in.

Ginny hated it. She hated their concern over giving her family a comfortable place to stay in for the Christmas holidays. She hated the fact that the Order was trying to make everything seem normal for the Weasleys, when they obviously knew that everything was amiss.

The morning before Christmas did not do much to brighten up Ginny's mood.

As she went downstairs for breakfast, she noticed that the only sound—a lively chorus of "Deck the Halls"—came from the drawing room. The singing turned out to be from the fifteen-foot Christmas tree. The Order had set it up the day the Weasleys had moved in. It was more glorious than the one they had at the Burrow. This Christmas tree had baubles that slowly swiveled, changing colors with every rotation; Snitches that flew from the tree when they were touched; and angels that sang carols in unison. The angels held miniature songbooks, and they swayed their heads in synchrony.

Ginny realized, however, that as she stared longer at the Christmas tree, she felt more and more detached from it. She knew it was there just because the Order pitied her family or having to leave the Burrow; it was there to brighten up the their mood. For Ginny, it had the opposite effect. It reminded her of their demise, of the Christmas presents that she had lost in Diagon Alley, of the Christmas she would not enjoy at home.

Ginny felt her stomach rumble. She looked around, hoping for a plate of biscuits somewhere, but found none. Sighing, she went to the basement kitchen, hoping that bacon and eggs were already laid down on the table for her. But when she got there, she was unable to open the door. She pressed her ears against it. She could hear nothing at all.

"Imperturbable Charm," Ginny muttered to herself. Miserable and hungry, she left the basement and thought of lying down on her bed until somebody remembered to feed her. The day was already shaping up to be as tiresome as the past few days; she had nothing to do and no one to talk to….

Not that no one ever tried. She knew Hermione had wanted to talk, but what could she say? That she and Harry had kissed the night they arrived from Hogwarts, and then realized that it had been a mistake the next day? It sounded silly. Ginny had skirted all of Hermione's gentle questions, thinking the older girl, who had only been trying to help, was prying. Ron was no help, either; he kept on shooting her and Harry odd glances whenever the three of them were in the same room. Fred and George were the same, though they were not always around.

And meanwhile, she had caught herself one too many times glancing at Harry. Secretly, she wished they had a moment to talk and clear things up. And even more secretly, she wished that Harry would say something that would let her know that he still…loved her.

Ginny could not talk to her mum. Mrs. Weasley was always preoccupied with something or another. It drove Ginny mad, seeing that her mother was more engaged in things other than opening the kitchen for her and preparing breakfast….

A grim laugh escaped Ginny—then she immediately stopped and looked around. She was on the second landing, alone—thankfully, or whoever was on the landing would probably think she had gone bonkers, laughing to herself. Coughing, as though someone had indeed heard her, she started turning left, to the bedroom she and Hermione shared, when she heard the door to her right creak open.

Ginny cursed in her head and hastily crossed the shadowy landing. Of course she had to laugh to herself right in front of the room Harry shared with Ron. She did not need to hear Harry speak to know that it was he who was now on the landing with her.

Ginny was about to continue on her way upstairs when Harry mumbled, "Er—you hungry?"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder quickly. Harry was standing in the doorway of his room, wearing one of the green jumpers her mum had knitted for him over the years. She noticed the breadcrumbs on the jumper.

Her stomach suddenly answered for her—a long, loud answer that probably echoed across the landing.

And for the first time in days, Harry grinned at her, and she felt a familiar pinching in her heart.

"I guess you are," he said.

Ginny fixed her face to look exasperated—though she was unable to tame down the blood that had rushed to her cheeks—and turned to him, a hand on her hip. "If you aren't able to do something about it, I might as well be on my way."

"As a matter of fact, your mum brought sandwiches and milk to our room," Harry said, sounding oddly formal. He gave a slight shrug. "She said we can't go to the kitchen yet."

Ginny sniffed. "I can see that."

She took a surreptitious glance at Harry's room. She noticed that Ron and Hermione were sitting on the bed, eating. She felt her stomach complaining again, quietly this time.

Harry was looking at her expectantly. "Er—we still have some. Sandwiches, I mean. And milk," he finished awkwardly.

Ginny stared at him for a while. So this was his way of apologizing—a couple of sandwiches and a glass of milk. From her mum, at that. But nonetheless, she walked towards Harry.

Harry opened the door wider to let her it. The slight movement caused him to wince; it was his ribs, she knew. She felt a rush of pity for him. As she passed him, she felt a desire to put a hand on his side; she envisioned herself capable of healing him with just one caress.

But, of course, she chased away that fleeting fancy and passed by Harry nonchalantly as she entered the room.

"Hi, Ginny," said Hermione, smiling and sidling closer to Ron to give Ginny some space on the bed. Ginny sat on the corner and Hermione handed her a platter of ham sandwiches.

"Oh wow, thanks," Ginny said in relief. She took a sandwich and bit into it, nodding at Hermione gratefully.

Harry slowly sat on the chair in the middle of the room, wincing a little as he touched his side. He looked at the three of them, sitting side by side on the large bed. Then his gaze lingered on Ginny. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, a kind of longing, but what jumped at Ginny was the look of disquiet on his face, as though he had been arguing in his head about something.

Ginny frowned at him, chewing. "What?" she said, her mouth still filled with sandwich.

Ron and Hermione were likewise staring at Harry.

"You were going to tell us something, mate?" Ron asked finally.

Ginny blinked. She had unconsciously stopped chewing. _Tell us something?_ Since their conversation in the Hogwarts Express a few days ago, she had expected Harry to confess something—but she did not expect it to be today, one day before Christmas. It was hardly the time for it. Because whatever it was he wanted to say, Ginny knew that it was not going to be pleasant at all.

Harry straightened up on the chair. "Er—yeah. Yeah," he mumbled. His hands went to his face to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then they went further upwards to rake his fingers through his messy hair. Ginny had to look away when she saw that his hair was still sticking up at the back; she definitely felt her heart skip a beat at that grave moment.

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione were staring straight at Harry, as though willing him to speak.

"It's about the prophecy," said Harry. "Remember…the Department of Mysteries?"

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny glanced at each other. "Well…yes…," said Ron slowly, as though to say instead, "who doesn't remember it?"

Harry bit the insides of his mouth. Then he went on quietly, "Dumbledore was there when Trelawney made that prophecy about me. Yes, it was Trelawney," he said to the surprised gasps of the three. "Dumbledore heard it. And he told me what it was, that morning…."

Whatever Ginny had in mind, this was definitely not it. Several moments had passed before she realized that her sandwich had dropped onto the platter on her lap and that she was staring at him with a half-opened mouth—just as Ron and Hermione were.

Hermione was the first to snap out of her trance. "Wh-what did she say?"

Ginny looked at Harry closely. She saw that he had gone pale and was clutching his side more tightly than ever. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat. She felt dread pool somewhere in the region of her stomach. _Why_ couldn't she just stand up and hold his hand while he spoke?

Harry took a deep breath. "It…it was made some time before I was born. Dumbledore was interviewing Trelawney for the position of Divination professor. He didn't think she could really _see_, you know…but then, she made the prophecy."

"What did she _say_?" Hermione pressed on.

Ron flashed her an annoyed frown; Hermione did not seem to notice.

"She said…at the end of July someone would be born to those who defied Voldemort three times. This someone would have the power to defeat him."

The three of them stared back at Harry, all blinking in surprise. They began to smile in relief, until Harry spoke again.

"Turned out that there was a Death Eater who was eavesdropping, but he was quickly thrown out of the building. He heard only this part of the prophecy, though."

Hermione's jaw dropped. The color drained from her face. "There's more?" she breathed.

Harry nodded, swallowing once again. His breathing was becoming more erratic; beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. "She also said…Voldemort will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers Voldemort doesn't know. And…."

Harry swallowed for the last time. Ginny couldn't quite understand why it was costing him so much effort to speak. What else was he going to say? Was it that bad? Part of Ginny wanted to clamp her hands on her ears—she did not think she could stand the tension in Harry's voice…

"And…neither Voldemort nor this…this _someone_…could live while the other survives."

A heavy blanket of silence fell upon them. Ginny felt as though her blood had turned to ice.

_It couldn't mean—_

_No._

_No. Not Harry. _

Ginny stared at Harry. She could not breathe. She could not respond. She just sat there, stiff and unmoving, only barely aware of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Harry went on quietly, "When the time comes, either I'll have to kill Voldemort, or he'll kill me."

Hermione gazed at Harry desperately, tears brimming in her eyes. "Isn't…isn't there any other way to…?"

"I don't know," said Harry. He was looking at his hands, seemingly unable to bear seeing his friends' faces. "It's a prophecy. It's bound to happen. The first part already did…."

Hermione let out a sob, covering her mouth with a hand.

Harry threw his hands up and let out a sigh. "Look, you're—you're not supposed to—to cry over it or something. I just thought you had to know. Just in case…."

Ginny's head snapped up. "Just in case _what_?"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned to look at Ginny, whose hands were shaking on her lap.

"You're not going to die, Harry, if that's what you're getting at," Ginny went on. She swallowed; her voice was shaking uncontrollably. But she kept her eyes on him, who likewise gazed unblinkingly back at her.

"No," Ron suddenly spoke up. "You're not. I don't know how, Harry, but he can't…you've survived him many times, and…and I just can't see how he's going to defeat you in the end after all this time—"

Hermione's head fell on Ron's shoulder as a tear slid down her cheek. Ron, almost absentmindedly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rubbed her upper arm.

Hermione nodded vigorously at Harry. "We'll find a way how. I promise. Even if we have to search the whole library, we'll find it." She smiled. "And…thank you for being so honest with us, Harry."

Ginny could see in Harry's smile that he was not fully convinced. But then again, who would be? She herself had her doubts.

_Harry might die. Harry _will_ die. He'll be fighting against _Voldemort_. He doesn't stand a chance—_

_Oh God. What am I talking about?_

Ginny caught Harry's eye. She saw in his eyes that he was searching hers for reassurance.

_I have to be strong for him_, Ginny realized in a flash. _He told us because he knew he couldn't carry the burden alone anymore. He needs _us

Ginny smiled back and gave him a firm nod. "Yes," she whispered. "Thank you."

Harry stared at her for a moment longer. And then, he smiled.

His eyes were full of regret.

* * *

Ginny could not sleep.

She looked over to the bed across the room which was occupied by Hermione. The moment she had climbed into bed more than an hour ago, Hermione had buried herself in her sheets and had turned her back on Ginny without a word.

It was exactly three-eleven in the morning. Ginny, meanwhile, was staring at the high ceiling of her room, her hands on the back of her head. Every once in a while her head would turn in Hermione's direction, for the older girl kept on stirring in her sleep, as though constantly disturbed by unsettling dreams. Ginny was sure she had heard a muffled sob from her earlier, too.

It was a wonder that Ginny did not—could not—cry. But then again, neither was she able to sleep that night. And though her systems ached for it, she was afraid that the moment she closed her eyes, she would dream of Tom Riddle again, and this time Tom would not be Tom anymore but Voldemort, Voldemort who would be pointing his wand at Harry, laughing coldly.

And Harry would be helpless. He had been helpless from the very beginning, having been given a fate he probably could not get away from.

A heavy weight settled on Ginny's chest. For perhaps the hundredth time that night, she turned over, tightly hugging a pillow under her, recalling the events that took place during the day.

There had been efforts to make Christmas Eve cheerful at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Many members of the Order had dropped by, bringing gifts and trying to be festive. Lupin had played old phonograph records, drowning the carols the angels on the Christmas tree sang. Some even danced; a drunken Mundungus Fletcher had twirled a reluctant Tonks around the drawing room.

But Ginny had sensed the solemn air about them as well. Her parents' smiles had been mechanized, cheerless. Neither of them had spoken much. When Ginny had chanced a glance on them, she saw tears peeping out of her mother's eyes even as she feigned cheerfulness for the sake of everyone else.

Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had been the most subdued among them. Like Mrs. Weasley, Harry had assumed a cheerful countenance himself; the lack of sparkle in his eyes betrayed him, however. Ginny doubted that only she herself had noticed.

Ginny finally gave up—she got up and out of her bed and put on her dressing gown and a pair of soft slippers. She quietly slipped out of her room and padded downstairs.

Ginny heard the soft, ethereal singing of "Silent Night" drifting towards her. Almost in a trance, she followed it to the drawing room, and nearly jumped in surprise when she saw a dark head behind the back of an armchair.

_It's a dream, _Ginny thought, her heart beating wildly. _It's Tom behind that chair._

She must have gasped out loud; the head turned around.

"Ginny," Harry said, sounding surprised.

Weak-kneed with sudden relief, Ginny smiled shakily. "Er, hi," she mumbled. "I didn't know you were here."

Harry smiled back—was it with apology or relief? Or both?

"I can't sleep," Harry said.

"Me neither."

Harry looked at her questioningly, but kept quiet.

Ginny hesitated, and then walked over to sit on the rug in front of the hearth.

The two of them sat in silence for a long while until she felt, rather than heard, Harry stand up from his armchair. She felt gooseflesh on her arms as she heard his slow, barefooted steps on the rug.

She turned to look at him. One hand was carefully laid on his side where he was hurt; he bit his lip in pain as he sat down less than a foot away from Ginny.

Ginny could not breathe. She had never been this close to Harry since their confrontation back in the Burrow. She could smell his clean pyjamas and hear his slow breathing.

"I shouldn't have told you about it this morning," he said in a low whisper.

"Why not?"

Harry did not take his eyes off the firelight. "It's just that…I shouldn't have told you when it's Christmas the day after," he muttered.

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Ginny felt a weak smile tug at her lips. She would never really know Harry. Sometimes he would shout at his friends, self-centeredly telling them how unfair everybody had been to him. Sometimes—and they were times Ginny cherished the most in her heart—Harry would reach out and openly care, probably without realizing it.

Sometimes it was this infinite capacity to care that hurt so much.

"We'd have known sooner or later, anyway," Ginny replied quietly.

The song of the angels on the Christmas tree softened to a hum. A comfortable silence fell upon them; for Ginny, Harry's presence, so close beside her, was enough.

The last time Ginny had seen Harry sitting in front of a fireplace, in deep contemplation, was about a month ago in Hogwarts. They had argued, she remembered. She could not remember what they had argued about, but she was sure it had something to do with…this.

And she was also sure of what she could have told him then. She had heard it from  
him, in a different circumstance.

They both needed the reassurance.

"It wasn't your fault," Ginny whispered.

"I know that," Harry said curtly.

"Then stop acting as if you're the guilty party," Ginny said patiently.

Harry chuckled in disbelief. "Do I act that way?"

"Oh, _do_ you ever," Ginny said, rolling her eyes and smiling. "You act as if you can make everything better by making stupid sacrifices that don't have to do with any of this."

Harry sat in silence until he said, "I don't do that."

"Oh yes you do," Ginny said firmly. "It doesn't work that way, and you, of all people, should know that. Harry"—she sidled closer to him, suddenly unable to stop herself—"all that's happening to you, to me and my family…it's all V-Voldemort's doing. That makes both of us victims. That's why we have to stick together against him. You remember what Dumbledore told us a couple of years back? Together we stand, divided we fall—what was it?"

"'We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided'," Harry replied, smiling slightly. "Hermione made sure Ron and I didn't forget."

"Then maybe you should start thinking about what it means. It's just like Quidditch." Ginny grinned as she gazed at the fire. "Even if the Chaser is weak, if you all stick together, you'll still win the game."

Ginny saw Harry's cheeks flush. He looked away again. "I—I'm sorry."

"Harry, _it wasn't your fault_."

"No," he muttered. "I meant—about all those things I said yesterday."

"Oh." Ginny smiled slightly. "Well, I won't go about pretending that it didn't hurt."

Harry raised his eyebrows, glancing at her.

"I mean, it's kind of true, I'm still scared of him," Ginny rambled, not taking her eyes off the firelight. "I still…think about him."

"At least you've learned to say his name out loud."

"I'm surprised myself," Ginny admitted. "But it doesn't mean I'm less scared, does it?"

There was a moment of silence before Harry spoke, in a voice so faint that Ginny would not have been able to hear him, had she been sitting any farther.

"I'm still scared, too."

Ginny's heart constricted painfully in her chest. Harry had never admitted his weakness before, nor had he shown it. She looked up at Harry, and as she did, he turned to train his eyes on her face.

His eyes. They were wide and bright with tears that he was struggling not to shed. A few hours ago, he had looked at her for reassurance. Now, he was pleading for it. All his defenses were crumbling, exposing himself.

And it suddenly came to her that all his life, he was his own consoler; he had always taken matters into his own hands to assure himself that everything was going to be fine. As a child, he had no one. Had he grown up wishing for someone who would comfort him, tell him that things would work out fine for him?

Yes, of course.

And now….

She didn't know how it happened. The next thing she knew, he was in her arms; he was shaking violently as she held him, and him her, and she herself had stained his pyjamas with her own tears.

She heard him curse between gritted teeth. "I don't know what the hell I'm bawling about," he said, his voice filled with bitterness.

"Shh," Ginny said, and she couldn't help but smile a little herself. "It's all right. I understand."

She pressed her cheek on his hair and closed her eyes. For years afterward, she would not forget the way Harry felt in her arms—trembling, vulnerable, and not a little frightened. She would also recall that she had been just as frightened—perhaps even more—but there would be times when she would have to be the strong one. And in that moment when he would have to face the prophecy laid down for him, she would be the one right behind him, to catch him if he fell and help him stand on his feet again.

Just as he had done when she had fallen.


End file.
